THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


The  King  of  Schnorrers 

Grotesques  and  Fantasies 


The 

King  of  Schnorrers 

GROTESQUES  AND  FANTASIES 


BY 


I.    ZANGWILL 

AUTHOR  OF  "  CHILDREN  OF  THE  GHETTO,"  "  THE  OLD  MAIDS'  CLUB,' 
"  MERELY  MARY  ANN,"  ETC. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON :  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1909 

AN  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped  January,  1894.     Reprinted   April, 
1894;  September,  1895;  January,  1897;  October,  1898;  August, 


:  June,  1909. 


NnrfaoaB  $hw« 
J.  8.  Cashing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  ! 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


Foreword  to 

"  The  King  of  Schnorrers? 

'T^HESE  episodes  make  no  claim  to  veracity,  while 
the  personages  are  not  even  sun-myths.  I  have 
merely  amused  myself  and  attempted  to  amuse  idlers 
by  incarnating  the  floating  tradition  of  the  Jewish 
SCHNORRER,  who  is  as  unique  among  beggars  as  Israel 
among  nations.  The  close  of  the  eighteenth  century 
was  chosen  for  a  background,  because,  while  the  most 
picturesque  period  of  Anglo-Jewish  history,  it  has  never 
before  been  exploited  in  fiction,  whether  by  novelists  or 
historians.  To  my  friend,  Mr.  Asher  I.  Myers,  I  am 
indebted  for  access  to  his  imique  collection  of  Jewish 
prints  and  caricatures  of  the  period,  and  I  have  not 
been  backward  in  SCHNORRING  suggestions  from  him 
and  other  private  humourists.  My  indebtedness,  to  my 
ai-tists  is  more  obvious,  from  my  old  friend  George 
Hutchinson  to  my  newer  friend  Phil  May,  who  has 
been  good  enough  to  allow  me  to  reproduce  from  his 


2052539 


vi  FORE  WORD. 

Annuals  the  brilliant  sketches  illustrating  two  of  the 
shorter  stories.  Of  these  shorter  stories  it  only  re- 
mains to  be  said  there  are  both  tragic  and  comic,  and 
I  will  not  usurp  the  critic  s  prerogative  by  determin- 
ing which  is  which. 

/.  Z. 


That  all  men  are  beggars,  'tis  very  plain  to  see, 
Though  some  they  are  of  lowly,  and  some  of  high  degree: 
Your  ministers  of  State  will  say  they  never  will  allow 
That  kings  from  subjects  beg;  but  that  you  know  is  all  bow-wow. 
Bow-wow-wow !    Fol  lol,  etc. 

OLD  PLAY. 


Contents. 


PAGE 

THE  KING  OF  SCHNORRERS        .        .        .        .        .        i 

Illustrated  by  GEORGE  HUTCHINSON. 

THE  SEMI- SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON         .         .        .         -157 

Illustrated  by  PHIL  MAY. 

AN  HONEST  LOG-ROLLER 171 

Illustrated  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND. 

A  TRAGI-COMEDY  OF  CREEDS     ...  .176 

THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE         .        ,         .         .183 

Illustrated  by  A.  J.  FlNBERG. 

MATED  BY  A  WAITER 205 

Illustrated  by  MARK  ZANGWILL. 

THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY 242 

Illustrated  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND  and  MARK  ZANGWILL. 

AN  ODD  LIFE -259 

Illustrated  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND. 

CHEATING  THE  GALLOWS 273 

Illustrated  by  GEORGE  HUTCHINSON. 

ix 


x  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

SANTA  CLAUS 297 

Illustrated  by  MARK  ZANGWILL. 

A  ROSE  OF  THE  GHETTO 302 

Illustrated  by  A.  J.  FINBERG. 

A  DOUBLE-BARRELLED  GHOST 320 

Illustrated  by  PHIL  MAY. 

VAGARIES  OF  A  VISCOUNT 334 

Illustrated  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND. 

THE  QUEEN'S  TRIPLETS 343 

Illustrated  by  IRVING  MONTAGU. 

A  SUCCESSFUL  OPERATION 364 

FLUTTER-DUCK  :  A  GHETTO  GROTESQUE      .         .         .369 
Illustrated  by  MARK  ZANGWILL. 


The  King  of  Schnorrers. 


CHAPTER   I. 

SHOWING   HOW   THE   WICKED   PHILANTHROPIST   WAS  TURNED 
INTO  A   FISH-PORTER. 

IN  the  days  when  Lord  George  Gordon  became  a  Jew, 
and  was  suspected  of  insanity ;  when,  out  of  respect  for 
the  prophecies,  England  denied  her  Jews  every  civic  right 
except  that  of  paying  taxes ;  when  the  Gentleman's  Maga- 
zine had  ill  words  for  the  infidel  alien ;  when  Jewish  mar- 
riages were  invalid  and  bequests  for  Hebrew  colleges  void ; 
when  a  prophet  prophesying  Primrose  Day  would  have  been 
set  in  the  stocks,  though  Pitt  inclined  his  private  ear  to 
Benjamin  Goldsmid's  views  on  the  foreign  loans  —  in  those 
days,  when  Tevele  Schiff  was  Rabbi  in  Israel,  and  Dr.  de 
Falk,  the  Master  of  the  Tetragrammaton,  saint  and  Cabbalistic 
conjuror,  flourished  in  Wellclose  Square,  and  the  composer 
of  "The  Death  of  Nelson"  was  a  choir-boy  in  the  Great 
Synagogue  ;  Joseph  Grobstock,  pillar  of  the  same,  emerged 
one  afternoon  into  the  spring  sunshine  at  the  fag-end  of 
the  departing  stream  of  worshippers.  In  his  hand  was  a 
large  canvas  bag,  and  in  his  eye  a  twinkle. 

There  had  been  a  special  service  of  prayer  and  thanks- 
giving for  the  happy  restoration  of  his  Majesty's  health, 
and  the  cantor  had  interceded  tunefully  with  Providence 
on  behalf  of  Royal  George  and  "  our  most  amiable  Queen, 
1 


2  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

Charlotte."  The  congregation  was  large  and  fashionable  — 
far  more  so  than  when  only  a  heavenly  sovereign  was  con- 
cerned —  and  so  the  courtyard  was  thronged  with  a  string 
of  Schnorrers  (beggars),  awaiting  the  exit  of  the  audience, 
much  as  the  vestibule  of  the  opera-house  is  lined  by 
footmen. 

They  were  a  motley  crew,  with  tangled  beards  and  long 
hair  that  fell  in  curls,  if  not  the  curls  of  the  period ;  but 
the  gaberdines  of  the  German  Ghettoes  had  been  in  most 
cases  exchanged  for  the  knee-breeches  and  many-buttoned 
jacket  of  the  Londoner.  When  the  clothes  one  has  brought 
from  the  Continent  wear  out,  one  must  needs  adopt  the 
attire  of  one's  superiors,  or  be  reduced  to  buying.  Many 
bore  staves,  and  had  their  loins  girded  up  with  coloured 
handkerchiefs,  as  though  ready  at  any  moment  to  return 
from  the  Captivity.  Their  woebegone  air  was  achieved 
almost  entirely  by  not  washing  —  it  owed  little  to  nature, 
to  adventitious  aids  in  the  shape  of  deformities.  The 
merest  sprinkling  boasted  of  physical  afflictions,  and  none 
exposed  sores  like  the  lazars  of  Italy  or  contortions  like 
the  cripples  of  Constantinople.  Such  crude  methods  are 
eschewed  in  the  fine  art  of  schnorring.  A  green  shade 
might  denote  weakness  of  sight,  but  the  stone-blind  man 
bore  no  braggart  placard  —  his  infirmity  was  an  old  estab- 
lished concern  well  known  to  the  public,  and  conferring 
upon  the  proprietor  a  definite  status  in  the  community. 
He  was  no  anonymous  atom,  such  as  drifts  blindly  through 
Christendom,  vagrant  and  apologetic.  Rarest  of  all  sights 
in  this  pageantry  of  Jewish  pauperdom  was  the  hollow 
trouser-leg  or  the  empty  sleeve,  or  the  wooden  limb  fulfill- 
ing either  and  pushing  out  a  proclamatory  peg. 

When  the  pack  of  Schnorrers  caught  sight  of  Joseph 
Grobstock,  they  fell  upon  him  full-cry,  blessing  him.  He, 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  3 

nothing  surprised,  brushed  pompously  through  the  benedic- 
tions, though  the  twinkle  in  his  eye  became  a  roguish  gleam. 
Outside  the  iron  gates,  where  the  throng  was  thickest,  and 
where  some  elegant  chariots  that  had  brought  worshippers 
from  distant  Hackney  were  preparing  to  start,  he  came  to  a 
standstill,  surrounded  by  clamouring  Schnorrers,  and  dipped 
his  hand  slowly  and  ceremoniously  into  the  bag.  There  was 


'DIPPED   HIS   HAND   INTO  THE   BAG." 


a  moment  of  breathless  expectation  among  the  beggars,  and 
Joseph  Grobstock  had  a  moment  of  exquisite  consciousness 
of  importance,  as  he  stood  there  swelling  in  the  .sunshine. 
There  was  no  middle  class  to  speak  of  in  the  eighteenth- 
century  Jewry ;  the  world  was  divided  into  rich  and  poor, 
and  the  rich  were  very,  very  rich,  and  the  poor  very,  very 
poor,  so  that  everyone  knew  his  station.  Joseph  Grobstock 
was  satisfied  with  that  in  which  it  had  pleased  God  to  place 


4  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

him.  He  was  a  jovial,  heavy-jowled  creature,  whose  clean- 
shaven chin  was  doubling,  and  he  was  habited  like  a  person 
of  the  first  respectability  in  a  beautiful  blue  body-coat  with 
a  row  of  big  yellow  buttons.  The  frilled  shirt  front,  high 
collar  of  the  very  newest  fashion,  and  copious  white  necker- 
chief showed  off  the  massive  fleshiness  of  the  red  throat. 
His  hat  was  of  the  Quaker  pattern,  and  his  head  did  not 
fail  of  the  periwig  and  the  pigtail,  the  latter  being  heretical 
in  name  only. 

What  Joseph  Grobstock  drew  from  the  bag  was  a  small 
white-paper  packet,  and  his  sense  of  humour  led  him  to 
place  it  in  the  hand  furthest  from  his  nose ;  for  it  was  a 
broad  humour,  not  a  subtle.  It  enabled  him  to  extract 
pleasure  from  seeing  a  fellow-mortal's  hat  rollick  in  the 
wind,  but  did  little  to  alleviate  the  chase  for  his  own.  His 
jokes  clapped  you  on  the  back,  they  did  not  tickle  delicately. 

Such  was  the  man  who  now  became  the  complacent  cyno- 
sure of  all  eyes,  even  of  those  that  had  no  appeal  in  them, 
as  soon  as  the  principle  of  his  eleemosynary  operations  had 
broken  on  the  crowd.  The  first  Schnorrer,  feverishly  tear- 
ing open  his  package,  had  found  a  florin,  and,  as  by  elec- 
tricity, all  except  the  blind  beggar  were  aware  that  Joseph 
Grobstock  was  distributing  florins.  The  distributor  par- 
took of  the  general  consciousness,  and  his  lips  twitched. 
Silently  he  dipped  again  into  the  bag,  and,  selecting  the 
hand  nearest,  put  a  second  white  package  into  it.  A  wave 
of  joy  brightened  the  grimy  face,  to  change  instantly  to  one 
of  horror. 

"  You  have  made  a  mistake  —  you  have  given  me  a 
penny  !  "  cried  the  beggar. 

"Keep  it  for  your  honesty,"  replied  Joseph  Grobstock 
imperturbably,  and  affected  not  to  enjoy  the  laughter  of  the 
rest.  The  third  mendicant  ceased  laughing  when  he  dis- 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  6 

covered  that  fold  on  fold  of  paper  sheltered  a  tiny  sixpence. 
It  was  now  obvious  that  the  great  man  was  distributing 
prize-packets,  and  the  excitement  of  the  piebald  crowd 
grew  momently.  Grobstock  went  on  dipping,  lynx-eyed 
against  second  applications.  One  of  the  few  pieces  of  gold 
in  the  lucky-bag  fell 
to  the  solitary  lame 
man,  who  danced  in  his 
joy  on  his  sound  leg, 
while  the  poor  blind 
man  pocketed  his  half- 
penny, unconscious  of 
ill- fortune,  and  merely 
wondering  why  the 
coin  came  swathed  in< 


paper. 

By  this  time  Grob- 
stock  could  control  his 
face  no  longer,  and  the 
last  episodes  of  the 
lottery  were  played  to 
the  accompaniment  of 
a  broad  grin.  Keen 
and  complex  was  his 
enjoyment.  There  was 
not  only  the  general  "DANCED  ON  HIS  SOUND  LEG." 

surprise  at  this  novel 

feat  of  alms  ;  there  were  the  special  surprises  of  detail  writ- 
ten on  face  after  face,  as  it  flashed  or  fell  or  frowned  in 
congruity  with  the  contents  of  the  envelope,  and  for  under- 
current a  delicious  hubbub  of  interjections  and  benedictions, 
a  stretching  and  withdrawing  of  palms,  and  a  swift  shifting 
of  figures,  that  made  the  scene  a  farrago  of  excitements.  So 


6  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

that  the  broad  grin  was  one  of  gratification  as  well  as  of 
amusement,  and  part  of  the  gratification  sprang  from  a  real 
kindliness  of  heart  —  for  Grobstock  was  an  easy-going  man 
with  whom  the  world  had  gone  easy.  The  Schnorrers  were 
exhausted  before  the  packets,  but  the  philanthropist  was  in 
no  anxiety  to  be  rid  of  the  remnant.  Closing  the  mouth  of 
the  considerably  lightened  bag  and  clutching  it  tightly  by 
the  throat,  and  recomposing  his  face  to  gravity,  he  moved 
slowly  down  the  street  like  a  stately  treasure-ship  flecked  by 
the  sunlight.  His  way  led  towards  Goodman's  Fields,  where 
his  mansion  was  situate,  and  he  knew  that  the  fine  weather 
would  bring  out  Schnorrers  enough.  And,  indeed,  he  had 
not  gone  many  paces  before  he  met  a  figure  he  did  not 
remember  having  seen  before. 

Leaning  against  a  post  at  the  head  of  the  narrow  passage 
which  led  to  Bevis  Marks  was  a  tall,  black-bearded,  turbaned 
personage,  a  first  glance  at  whom  showed  him  of  the  true 
tribe.  Mechanically  Joseph  Grobstock's  hand  went  to  the 
lucky-bag,  and  he  drew  out  a  neatly- folded  packet  and  ten- 
dered it  to  the  stranger. 

The  stranger  received  the  gift  graciously,  and  opened  it 
gravely,  the  philanthropist  loitering  awkwardly  to  mark  the 
issue.  Suddenly  the  dark  face  became  a  thunder-cloud,  the 
eyes  flashed  lightning. 

"  An  evil  spirit  in  your  ancestors'  bones  ! "  hissed  the 
stranger,  from  between  his  flashing  teeth.  "  Did  you  come 
here  to  insult  me  ?  " 

"  Pardon,  a  thousand  pardons  ! "  stammered  the  magnate, 
wholly  taken  aback.  "  I  fancied  you  were  a  —  a  —  a  —  poor 
man." 

"  And,  therefore,  you  came  to  insult  me  ! " 

"  No,  no,  I  thought  to  help  you,"  murmured  Grobstock, 
turning  from  red  to  scarlet.  Was  it  possible  he  had  foisted 


THE  KING  OF  SCHNORRERS.  7 

his  charity  upon  an  undeserving  millionaire?  No  !  Through 
all  the  clouds  of  his  own  confusion  and  the  recipient's  anger, 
the  figure  of  a  Schnorrer  loomed  too  plain  for  mistake. 
None  but  a  Schnorrer  would  wear  a  home-made  turban, 
issue  of  a  black  cap  crossed  with  a  white  kerchief;  none 
but  a  Schnorrer  would  unbutton  the  first  nine  buttons  of  his 
waistcoat,  or,  if  this  relaxation  were  due  to  the  warmth  of 
the  weather,  counteract  it  by  wearing  an  over-garment, 
especially  one  as  heavy  as  a  blanket,  with  buttons  the  size 
of  compasses  and  flaps  reaching  nearly  to  his  shoe-buckles, 
even  though  its  length  were  only  congruous  with  that  of  his 
undercoat,  which  already  reached  the  bottoms  of  his  knee- 
breeches.  Finally,  who  but  a  Schnorrer  would  wear  this 
overcoat  cloak-wise,  with  dangling  sleeves,  full  of  armless 
suggestion  from  a  side  view?  Quite  apart  from  the  shabbi- 
ness  of  the  snuff-coloured  fabric,  it  was  amply  evident  that 
the  wearer  did  not  dress  by  rule  or  measure.  Yet  the  dis- 
proportions of  his  attire  did  but  enhance  the  picturesqueness 
of  a  personality  that  would  be  striking  even  in  a  bath,  though 
it  was  not  likely  to  be  seen  there.  The  beard  was  jet  black, 
sweeping  and  unkempt,  and  ran  up  his  cheeks  to  meet  the 
raven  hair,  so  that  the  vivid  face  was  framed  in  black ;  it 
was  a  long,  tapering  face  with  sanguine  lips  gleaming  at  the 
heart  of  a  black  bush ;  the  eyes  were  large  and  lambent,  set 
in  deep  sockets  under  black  arching  eyebrows  ;  the  nose  was 
long  and  Coptic ;  the  brow  low  but  broad,  with  straggling 
wisps  of  hair  protruding  from  beneath  the  turban.  His 
right  hand  grasped  a  plain  ashen  staff. 

Worthy  Joseph  Grobstock  found  the  figure  of  the  men- 
dicant only  too  impressive ;  he  shrank  uneasily  before  the 
indignant  eyes. 

"  I  meant  to  help  you,"  he  repeated. 

"  And  this  is  how  one  helps  a  brother  in  Israel  ?  "  said  the 


8  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

Schnorrer,  throwing  the  paper  contemptuously  into  the  phi- 
lanthropist's face.  It  struck  him  on  the  bridge  of  the  nose, 
but  impinged  so  mildly  that  he  felt  at  once  what  was  the 
matter.  The  packet  was  empty  —  the  Schnorrer  had  drawn 
a  blank ;  the  only  one  the  good-natured  man  had  put  into 
the  bag. 

The  Schnorrer1  s  audacity  sobered  Joseph  Grobstock  com- 
pletely ;  it  might  have  angered  him  to  chastise  the  fellow, 
but  it  did  not.  His  better  nature  prevailed ;  he  began  to 
feel  shamefaced,  fumbled  sheepishly  in  his  pocket  for  a 
crown ;  then  hesitated,  as  fearing  this  peace-offering  would 
not  altogether  suffice  with  so  rare  a  spirit,  and  that  he  owed 
the  stranger  more  than  silver  —  an  apology  to  wit.  He 
proceeded  honestly  to  pay  it,  but  with  a  maladroit  manner, 
as  one  unaccustomed  to  the  currency. 

"You  are  an  impertinent  rascal,"  he  said,  "but  I  daresay 
you  feel  hurt.  Let  me  assure  you  I  did  not  know  there  was 
nothing  in  the  packet.  I  did  not,  indeed." 

"  Then  your  steward  has  robbed  me  ! "  exclaimed  the 
Schnorrer  excitedly.  "  You  let  him  make  up  the  packets, 
and  he  has  stolen  my  money  —  the  thief,  the  transgressor, 
thrice-cursed  who  robs  the  poor." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  interrupted  the  magnate  meekly. 
"  I  made  up  the  packets  myself." 

"  Then,  why  do  you  say  you  did  not  know  what  was  in 
them?  Go,  you  mock  my  misery  !  " 

"  Nay,  hear  me  out ! "  urged  Grobstock  desperately.  "  In 
some  I  placed  gold,  in  the  greater  number  silver,  in  a  few 
copper,  in  one  alone  —  nothing.  That  is  the  one  you  have 
drawn.  It  is  your  misfortune." 

"  My  misfortune  !  "  echoed  the  Schnorrer  scornfully.  "  It 
is  your  misfortune  —  I  did  not  even  draw  it.  The  Holy 
One,  blessed  be  He,  has  punished  you  for  your  heartless 


'IT    STRUCK    HIM    ON   THE   BRIDGE   OF    THE   NOSE." 


10  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

jesting  with  the  poor  —  making  a  sport  for  yourself  of  their 
misfortunes,  even  as  the  Philistines  sported  with  Samson. 
The  good  deed  you  might  have  put  to  your  account  by  a 
gratuity  to  me,  God  has  taken  from  you.  He  has  declared 
you  unworthy  of  achieving  righteousness  through  me.  Go 
your  way,  murderer  !  " 

"  Murderer  !  "  repeated  the  philanthropist,  bewildered  by 
this  harsh  view  of  his  action. 

"  Yes,  murderer  !  Stands  it  not  in  the  Talmud  that  he 
who  shames  another  is  as  one  who  spills  his  blood?  And 
have  you  not  put  me  to  shame  —  if  anyone  had  witnessed 
your  almsgiving,  would  he  not  have  laughed  in  my  beard?" 

The  pillar  of  the  Synagogue  felt  as  if  his  paunch  were 
shrinking. 

"But  the  others  —  "he  murmured  deprecatingly.  "I 
have  not  shed  their  blood  —  have  I  not  given  freely  of  my 
hard-earned  gold  ?  " 

"  For  your  own  diversion,"  retorted  the  Schnorrer  im- 
placably. "  But  what  says  the  Midrash  ?  There  is  a  wheel 
rolling  in  the  world  —  not  he  who  is  rich  to-day  is  rich 
to-morrow,  but  this  one  He  brings  up,  and  this  one  He 
brings  down,  as  is  said  in  the  seventy-fifth  Psalm.  There- 
fore, lift  not  up  your  horn  on  high,  nor  speak  with  a  stiff 
neck." 

He  towered  above  the  unhappy  capitalist,  like  an  ancient 
prophet  denouncing  a  swollen  monarch.  The  poor  man 
put  his  hand  involuntarily  to  his  high  collar  as  if  to  explain 
away  his  apparent  arrogance,  but  in  reality  because  he  was 
not  breathing  easily  under  the  Schnorrer's  attack. 

"  You  are  an  uncharitable  man,"  he  panted  hotly,  driven 
to  a  line  of  defence  he  had  not  anticipated.  "  I  did  it  not 
from  wantonness,  but  from  faith  in  Heaven.  I  know  well 
that  God  sits  turning  a  wheel  —  therefore  I  did  not  presume 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  11 

to  turn  it  myself.  Did  I  not  let  Providence  select  who 
should  have  the  silver  and  who  the  gold,  who  the  copper 
and  who  the  emptiness?  Besides,  God  alone  knows  who 
really  needs  my  assistance  —  I  have  made  Him  my  almoner ; 
I  have  cast  my  burden  on  the  Lord." 

"  Epicurean  !  "  shrieked  the  Schnorrer.  "  Blasphemer  ! 
Is  it  thus  you  would  palter  with  the  sacred  texts  ?  Do  you 
forget  what  the  next  verse  says  :  '  Bloodthirsty  and  deceitful 
men  shall  not  live  out  half  their  days  '  ?  Shame  on  you  — 
you  a  Gabbai  (treasurer)  of  the  Great  Synagogue.  You 
see  I  know  you,  Joseph  Grobstock.  Has  not  the  beadle 
of  your  Synagogue  boasted  to  me  that  you  have  given  him 
a  guinea  for  brushing  your  spatterdashes  ?  Would  you  think 
of  offering  him  a  packet?  Nay,  it  is  the  poor  that  are 
trodden  on  —  they  whose  merits  are  in  excess  of  those  of 
beadles.  But  the  Lord  will  find  others  to  take  up  his  loans 
—  for  he  who  hath  pity  on  the  poor  lendeth  to  the  Lord. 
You  are  no  true  son  of  Israel." 

The  Schnorrer's  tirade  was  long  enough  to  allow  Grob- 
stock to  recover  his  dignity  and  his  breath. 

"  If  you  really  knew  me,  you  would  know  that  the  Lord 
is  considerably  in  my  debt,"  he  rejoined  quietly.  "  When 
next  you  would  discuss  me,  speak  with  the  Psalms-men,  not 
the  beadle.  Never  have  I  neglected  the  needy.  Even 
now,  though  you  have  been  insolent  and  uncharitable,  I 
am  ready  to  befriend  you  if  you  are  in  want." 

"  If  I  am  in  want !  "  repeated  the  Schnorrer  scornfully. 
"  Is  there  anything  I  do  not  want?  " 

"You  are  married?" 

"  You  correct  me  —  wife  and  children  are  the  only  things 
I  do  not  lack." 

"  No  pauper  does,"  quoth  Grobstock,  with  a  twinkle  of 
restored  humour. 


12  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  No,"  assented  the  Schnorrer  sternly.  "  The  poor  man 
has  the  fear  of  Heaven.  He  obeys  the  Law  and  the  Com- 
mandments. He  marries  while  he  is  young  —  and  his 
spouse  is  not  cursed  with  barrenness.  It  is  the  rich  man 
who  transgresses  the  Judgment,  who  delays  to  come  under 
the  Canopy." 

"  Ah  !  well,  here  is  a  guinea  —  in  the  name  of  my  wife," 
broke  in  Grobstock  laughingly.  "  Or  stay  —  since  you  do 
not  brush  spatterdashes  —  here  is  another." 

"  In  the  name  of  my  wife,"  rejoined  the  Schnorrer  with 
dignity,  "  I  thank  you." 

"  Thank  me  in  your  own  name,"  said  Grobstock.  "  I 
mean  tell  it  me." 

"  I  am  Manasseh  Bueno  Barzillai  Azevedo  da  Costa,"  he 
answered  simply. 

"  A  Sephardi !  "  exclaimed  the  philanthropist. 

"  Is  it  not  written  on  my  face,  even  as  it  is  written  on 
yours  that  you  are  a  Tedesco  ?  It  is  the  first  time  that  I 
have  taken  gold  from  one  of  your  lineage." 

"  Oh,  indeed  ! "  murmured  Grobstock,  beginning  to  feel 
small  again. 

"Yes  —  are  we  not  far  richer  than  your  community? 
What  need  have  I  to  take  the  good  deeds  away  from  my 
own  people  —  they  have  too  few  opportunities  for  benefi- 
cence as  it  is,  being  so  many  of  them  wealthy ;  brokers 
and  West  India  merchants,  and  —  " 

"  But  I,  too,  am  a  financier,  and  an  East  India  Director," 
Grobstock  reminded  him. 

"  Maybe  ;  but  your  community  is  yet  young  and  struggling 
—  your  rich  men  are  as  the  good  men  in  Sodom  for  multi- 
tude. You  are  the  immigrants  of  yesterday  —  refugees  from 
the  Ghettoes  of  Russia  and  Poland  and  Germany.  But  we,  as 
you  are  aware,  have  been  established  here  for  generations ; 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  13 

in  the  Peninsula  our  ancestors  graced  the  courts  of  kings, 
and  controlled  the  purse-strings  of  princes  ;  in  Holland  we 
held  the  empery  of  trade.  Ours  have  been  the  poets  and 
scholars  in  Israel.  You  cannot  expect  that  we  should  recog- 
nise your  rabble,  which  prejudices  us  in  the  eyes  of  England. 
We  made  the  name  of  Jew  honourable ;  you  degrade  it. 
You  are  as  the  mixed  multitude  which  came  up  with  our 
forefathers  out  of  Egypt." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Grobstock  sharply.  "  All  Israel  are 
brethren." 

"  Esau  was  the  brother  of  Israel,"  answered  Manasseh 
sententiously.  "  But  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  go  a-marketing, 
it  is  such  a  pleasure  to  handle  gold."  There  was  a  note  of 
wistful  pathos  in  the  latter  remark  which  took  off  the  edge 
of  the  former,  and  touched  Joseph  with  compunction  for 
bandying  words  with  a  hungry  man  whose  loved  ones  were 
probably  starving  patiently  at  home. 

"  Certainly,  haste  away,"  he  said  kindly. 

"  I  shall  see  you  again,"  said  Manasseh,  with  a  valedictory 
wave  of  his  hand,  and  digging  his  staff  into  the  cobblestones 
he  journeyed  forwards  without  bestowing  a  single  backward 
glance  upon  his  benefactor. 

Grobstock's  road  took  him  to  Petticoat  Lane  in  the  wake 
of  Manasseh.  He  had  no  intention  of  following  him,  but 
did  not  see  why  he  should  change  his  route  for  fear  of  the 
Schnorrer,  more  especially  as  Manasseh  did  not  look  back. 
By  this  time  he  had  become  conscious  again  of  the  bag  he 
carried,  but  he  had  no  heart  to  proceed  with  the  fun.  He 
felt  conscience  stricken,  and  had  recourse  to  his  pockets 
instead  in  his  progress  through  the  narrow  jostling  market- 
street,  where  he  scarcely  ever  bought  anything  personally 
save  fish  and  good  deeds.  He  was  a  connoisseur  in  both. 
To-day  he  picked  up  many  a  good  deed  cheap,  paying 


14  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

pennies  for  articles  he  did  not  take  away  —  shoe-latchets 
and  cane-strings,  barley-sugar  and  butter-cakes.  Suddenly, 
through  a  chink  in  an  opaque  mass  of  human  beings,  he 
caught  sight  of  a  small  attractive  salmon  on  a  fishmonger's 
slab.  His  eye  glittered,  his  chops  watered.  He  elbowed  his 
way  to  the  vendor,  whose  eye  caught  a  corresponding  gleam, 
and  whose  finger  went  to  his  hat  in  respectful  greeting. 

"Good  afternoon,  Jonathan,"  said  Grobstock  jovially, 
"  I'll  take  that  salmon  there  —  how  much? " 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  a  voice  in  the  crowd,  "  I  am  just  bar- 
gaining for  it." 

Grobstock  started.     It  was  the  voice  of  Manasseh. 

"Stop  that  nonsense,  da  Costa,"  responded  the  fish- 
monger. "  You  know  you  won't  give  me  my  price.  It  is 
the  only  one  I  have  left,"  he  added,  half  for  the  benefit  of 
Grobstock.  "  I  couldn't  let  it  go  under  a  couple  of  guineas." 

"Here's  your  money,"  cried  Manasseh  with  passionate 
contempt,  and  sent  two  golden  coins  spinning  musically 
upon  the  slab. 

In  the  crowd  sensation,  in  Grobstock's  breast  astonish- 
ment, indignation,  and  bitterness.  He  was  struck  momen- 
tarily dumb.  His  face  purpled.  The  scales  of  the  salmon 
shone  like  a  celestial  vision  that  was  fading  from  him  by  his 
own  stupidity. 

"  I'll  take  that  salmon,  Jonathan,"  he  repeated,  splutter- 
ing. "  Three  guineas." 

"  Pardon  me,"  repeated  Manasseh,  "  it  is  too  late.  This 
is  not  an  auction."  He  seized  the  fish  by  the  tail. 

Grobstock  turned  upon  him,  goaded  to  the  point  of 
apoplexy.  "  You  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  —  you  —  rogue  !  How 
dare  you  buy  salmon  !  " 

"  Rogue  yourself !  "  retorted  Manasseh.  "  Would  you 
have  me  steal  salmon?" 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  15 

"  You  have  stolen  my  money,  knave,  rascal ! " 
"  Murderer  !     Shedder  of  blood  !      Did  you  not  give  me 
the  money  as  a  free-will  offering,  for  the  good  of  your  wife's 


"  '  YOU  ROGUE  !  HOW  DARE  YOU  BUY  SALMON  !  '  " 

soul?     I  call  on  you  before  all  these  witnesses  to  confess 
yourself  a  slanderer  !  " 

"  Slanderer,  indeed  !  I  repeat,  you  are  a  knave  and  a 
jackanapes.  You  —  a  pauper  —  a  beggar  —  with  a  wife  and 
children.  How  can  you  have  the  face  to  go  and  spend  two 


16  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

guineas — two  whole  guineas  —  all  you  have  in  the  world  — 
on  a  mere  luxury  like  salmon  ?  " 

Manasseh  elevated  his  arched  eyebrows. 

"  If  I  do  not  buy  salmon  when  I  have  two  guineas,"  he 
answered  quietly,  "  when  shall  I  buy  salmon  ?  As  you  say, 
it  is  a  luxury  ;  very  dear.  It  is  only  on  rare  occasions  like 
this  that  my  means  run  to  it."  There  was  a  dignified  pathos 
about  the  rebuke  that  mollified  the  magnate.  He  felt  that 
there  was  reason  in  the  beggar's  point  of  view  —  though  it 
was  a  point  to  which  he  would  never  himself  have  risen, 
unaided.  But  righteous  anger  still  simmered  in  him ;  he 
felt  vaguely  that  there  was  something  to  be  said  in  reply, 
though  he  also  felt  that  even  if  he  knew  what  it  was,  it 
would  have  to  be  said  in  a  lower  key  to  correspond  with 
Manasseh's  transition  from  the  high  pitch  of  the  opening 
passages.  Not  finding  the  requisite  repartee  he  was  silent. 

"  In  the  name  of  my  wife,"  went  on  Manasseh,  swinging 
the  salmon  by  the  tail,  "  I  ask  you  to  clear  my  good  name 
which  you  have  bespattered  in  the  presence  of  my  very 
tradesmen.  Again  I  call  upon  you  to  confess  before  these 
witnesses  that  you  gave  me  the  money  yourself  in  charity. 
Come  !  Do  you  deny  it?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  deny  it,"  murmured  Grobstock,  unable  to 
understand  why  he  appeared  to  himself  like  a  whipped  cur, 
or  how  what  should  have  been  a  boast  had  been  transformed 
into  an  apology  to  a  beggar. 

"  In  the  name  of  my  wife,  I  thank  you,"  said  Manasseh. 
"  She  loves  salmon,  and  fries  with  unction.  And  now,  since 
you  have  no  further  use  for  that  bag  of  yours,  I  will  relieve 
you  of  its  burden  by  taking  my  salmon  home  in  it."  He 
took  the  canvas  bag  from  the  limp  grasp  of  the  astonished 
Tedesco,  and  dropped  the  fish  in.  The  head  protruded, 
surveying  the  scene  with  a  cold,  glassy,  ironical  eye. 


'THE  HEAD  PROTRUDED.' 
17 


18  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  Good  afternoon  all,"  said  the  Schnorrer  courteously. 

"One  moment,"  called  out  the  philanthropist,  when  he 
found  his  tongue.  "The  bag  is  not  empty  —  there  are  a 
number  of  packets  still  left  in  it." 

"  So  much  the  better  !  "  said  Manasseh  soothingly.  "  You 
will  be  saved  from  the  temptation  to  continue  shedding  the 
blood  of  the  poor,  and  I  shall  be  saved  from  spending  all 
your  bounty  upon  salmon  —  an  extravagance  you  were  right 
to  deplore." 

"  But — but ! "  began  Grobstock. 

"No  —  no'buts,  "'  protested  Manasseh,  waving  his  bag 
deprecatingly.  "  You  were  right.  You  admitted  you  were 
wrong  before ;  shall  I  be  less  magnanimous  now  ?  In  the 
presence  of  all  these  witnesses  I  acknowledge  the  justice  of 
your  rebuke.  I  ought  not  to  have  wasted  two  guineas  on 
one  fish.  It  was  not  worth  it.  Come  over  here,  and  I  will 
tell  you  something."  He  walked  out  of  earshot  of  the  by- 
standers, turning  down  a  side  alley  opposite  the  stall,  and 
beckoned  with  his  salmon  bag.  The  East  India  Director 
had  no  course  but  to  obey.  He  would  probably  have 
followed  him  in  any  case,  to  have  it  out  with  him,  but  now 
he  had  a  humiliating  sense  of  being  at  the  SchnorreSs  beck 
and  call. 

"Well,  what  more  have  you  to  say?"  he  demanded 
gruffly. 

"I  wish  to  save  you  money  in  future,"  said  the  beggar 
in  low,  confidential  tones.  "  That  Jonathan  is  a  son  of  the 
separation  !  The  salmon  is  not  worth  two  guineas  —  no,  on 
my  soul !  If  you  had  not  come  up  I  should  have  got  it  for 
twenty-five  shillings.  Jonathan  stuck  on  the  price  when  he 
thought  you  would  buy.  I  trust  you  will  not  let  me  be  the 
loser  by  your  arrival,  and  that  if  I  should  find  less  than 
seventeen  shillings  in  the  bag  you  will  make  it  up  to  me." 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  19 

The  bewildered  financier  felt  his  grievance  disappearing 
as  by  sleight  of  hand. 

Manasseh  added  winningly :  "  I  know  you  are  a  gentle- 
man, capable  of  behaving  as  finely  as  any  Sephardi." 

This  handsome  compliment  completed  the  Schnorrer's 
victory,  which  was  sealed  by  his  saying,  "  And  so  I  should 
not  like  you  to  have  it  on  your  soul  that  you  had  done  a 
poor  man  out  of  a  few  shillings." 

Grobstock  could  only  remark  meekly :  "  You  will  find 
more  than  seventeen  shillings  in  the  bag." 

"Ah,  why  were  you  born  a  Tedesco  !"  cried  Manasseh 
ecstatically.  "Do  you  know  what  I  have  a  mind  to  do? 
To  come  and  be  your  Sabbath-guest !  Yes,  I  will  take 
supper  with  you  next  Friday,  and  we  will  welcome  the  Bride 

—  the  holy  Sabbath  —  together  !     Never  before  have  I  sat 
at  the  table  of  a  Tedesco  —  but  you  —  you  are  a  man  after 
my  own  heart.     Your  soul  is  a  son  of  Spain.     Next  Friday 
at  six  —  do  not  forget." 

"  But  —  but  I  do  not  have  Sabbath-guests,"  faltered  Grob- 
stock. 

"  Not  have  Sabbath-guests  !  No,  no,  I  will  not  believe 
you  are  of  the  sons  of  Belial,  whose  table  is  spread  only  for 
the  rich,  who  do  not  proclaim  your  equality  with  the  poor 
even  once  a  week.  It  is  your  fine  nature  that  would  hide 
its  benefactions.  '  Do  not  I,  Manasseh  Bueno  Barzillai  Aze- 
vedo  da  Costa,  have  at  my  Sabbath-table  every  week  Yan- 
kele  ben  Yitzchok — a  Pole?  And  if  I  have  a  Tedesco  at 
my  table,  why  should  I  draw  the  line  there  ?  Why  should 
I  not  permit  you,  a  Tedesco,  to  return  the  hospitality  to 
me,  a  Sephardi  ?  At  six,  then  !  I  know  your  house  well 

—  it  is  an  elegant  building  that  does  credit  to  your  taste 

—  do  not  be  uneasy  —  I  shall  not  fail  to  be  punctual.     A 
Dios  !  " 


20 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


This  time  he  waved  his  stick  fraternally,  and  stalked  down 
a  turning.  For  an  instant  Grobstock  stood  glued  to  the  spot, 
crushed  by  a  sense  of  the  inevitable.  Then  a  horrible  thought 
occurred  to  him. 


"WAVED   HIS   STICK   FRATERNALLY." 

Easy-going  man  as  he  was,  he  might  put  up  with  the 
visitation  of  Manasseh.  But  then  he  had  a  wife,  and,  what 
was  worse,  a  livery  servant.  How  could  he  expect  a  livery 
servant  to  tolerate  such  a  guest?  He  might  fly  from  the 
town  on  Friday  evening,  but  that  would  necessitate  trouble- 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  21 

some  explanations.  And  Manasseh  would  come  again  the 
next  Friday.  That  was  certain.  Manasseh  would  be  like 
grim  death  —  his  coming,  though  it  might  be  postponed, 
was  inevitable.  Oh,  it  was  too  terrible.  At  all  costs  he 
must  revoke  the  invitation  (  ?) .  Placed  between  Scylla  and 
Charybdis,  between  Manasseh  and  his  manservant,  he  felt 
he  could  sooner  face  the  former. 

"  Da  Costa  ! "  he  called  in  agony.     "  Da  Costa  ! " 

The  Schnorrer  turned,  and  then  Grobstock  found  he  was 
mistaken  in  imagining  he  preferred  to  face  da  Costa. 

"You  called  me?"  enquired  the  beggar. 

"Ye  —  e — s,"  faltered  the  East  India  Director,  and  stood 
paralysed. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  said  Manasseh  graciously. 

"  Would  you  mind  —  very  much  —  if  I  —  if  I  asked 
you  —  ' 

"  Not  to  come,"  was  in  his  throat,  but  stuck  there. 

"If  you  asked  me  — "  said  Manasseh  encouragingly. 

"To  accept  some  of  my  clothes,"  flashed  Grobstock,  with 
a  sudden  inspiration.  After  all,  Manasseh  was  a  fine  figure 
of  a  man.  If  he  could  get  him  to  doff  those  musty  garments 
of  his  he  might  almost  pass  him  off  as  a  prince  of  the  blood, 
foreign  by  his  beard  —  at  any  rate  he  could  be  certain  of 
making  him  acceptable  to  the  livery  servant.  He  breathed 
freely  again  at  this  happy  solution  of  the  situation. 

"Your  cast-off  clothes?"  asked  Manasseh.  Grobstock 
was  not  sure  whether  the  tone  was  supercilious  or  eager. 
He  hastened  to  explain.  "  No,  not  quite  that.  Second- 
hand things  I  am  still  wearing.  My  old  clothes  were  already 
given  away  at  Passover  to  Simeon  the  Psalms-man.  These 
are  comparatively  new." 

"Then  I  would  beg  you  to  excuse  me,"  said  Manasseh, 
with  a  stately  wave  of  the  bag. 


22  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  Oh,  but  why  not  ? "  murmured  Grobstock,  his  blood 
running  cold  again. 

"  I  cannot,'1  said  Manasseh,  shaking  his  head. 

"  But  they  will  just  about  fit  you,"  pleaded  the  philan- 
thropist. 

"  That  makes  it  all  the  more  absurd  for  you  to  give  them 
to  Simeon  the  Psalms-man,"  said  Manasseh  sternly.  "  Still, 
since  he  is  your  clothes-receiver,  I  could  not  think  of  inter- 
fering with  his  office.  It  is  not  etiquette.  I  am  surprised 
you  should  ask  me  if  I  should  mind,  Of  course  I  should 
mind  —  I  should  mind  very  much." 

"  But  he  is  not  my  clothes-receiver,"  protested  Grobstock. 
"  Last  Passover  was  the  first  time  I  gave  them  to  him,  be- 
cause my  cousin,  Hyam  Rosenstein,  who  used  to  have  them, 
has  died." 

"  But  surely  he  considers  himself  your  cousin's  heir,"  said 
Manasseh.  "  He  expects  all  your  old  clothes  henceforth." 

"  No.     I  gave  him  no  such  promise." 

Manasseh  hesitated. 

"Well,  in  that  case — " 

"  In  that  case,"  repeated  Grobstock  breathlessly. 

"  On  condition  that  I  am  to  have  the  appointment  per- 
manently, of  course." 

"  Of  course,"  echoed  Grobstock  eagerly. 

"  Because  you  see,"  Manasseh  condescended  to  explain, 
"  it  hurts  one's  reputation  to  lose  a  client." 

"  Yes,  yes,  naturally,"  said  Grobstock  soothingly.  "  I 
quite  understand."  Then,  feeling  himself  slipping  into  future 
embarrassments,  he  added  timidly,  "  Of  course  they  will  not 
always  be  so  good  as  the  first  lot,  because  — " 

"  Say  no  more,"  Manasseh  interrupted  reassuringly,  "  I  will 
come  at  once  and  fetch  them." 

"  No.   I  will  send  them,"  cried  Grobstock,  horrified  afresh. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  23 

"  I  could  not  dream  of  permitting  it.  What !  Shall  I 
put  you  to  all  that  trouble  which  should  rightly  be  mine? 
I  will  go  at  once  —  the  matter  shall  be  settled  without  delay, 
I  promise  you ;  as  it  is  written,  '  I  made  haste  and  delayed 
not ! '  Follow  me  ! "  Grobstock  suppressed  a  groan.  Here 
had  all  his  manoeuvring  landed  him  in  a  worse  plight  than 
ever.  He  would  have  to  present  Manasseh  to  the  livery 
servant  without  even  that  clean  face  which  might  not  un- 
reasonably have  been  expected  for  the  Sabbath.  Despite 
the  text  quoted  by  the  erudite  Schnorrer,  he  strove  to  put 
off  the  evil  hour. 

"  Had  you  not  better  take  the  salmon  home  to  your  wife 
first?"  said  he. 

"  My  duty  is  to  enable  you  to  complete  your  good  deed 
at  once.  My  wife  is  unaware  of  the  salmon.  She  is  in  no 
suspense." 

Even  as  the  Schnorrer  spake  it  flashed  upon  Grobstock 
that  Manasseh  was  more  presentable  with  the  salmon  than 
without  it  —  in  fact,  that  the  salmon  was  the  salvation  of  the 
situation.  When  Grobstock  bought  fish  he  often  hired  a 
man  to  carry  home  the  spoil.  Manasseh  would  have  all  the 
air  of  such  a  loafer.  Who  would  suspect  that  the  fish  and 
even  the  bag  belonged  to  the  porter,  though  purchased  with 
the  gentleman's  money?  Grobstock  silently  thanked  Provi- 
dence for  the  ingenious  way  in  which  it  had  contrived  to 
save  his  self-respect.  As  a  mere  fish-carrier  Manasseh  would 
attract  no  second  glance  from  the  household ;  once  safely 
in,  it  would  be  comparatively  easy  to  smuggle  him  out,  and 
when  he  did  come  on  Friday  night  it  would  be  in  the  meta- 
morphosing glories  of  a  body-coat,  with  his  unspeakable 
undergarment  turned  into  a  shirt  and  his  turban  knocked 
into  a  cocked  hat. 

They  emerged  into  Aldgate,  and  then  turned  down  Leman 


24 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


Street,  a  fashionable  quarter,  and  so  into  Great  Prescott 
Street.  At  the  critical  street  corner  Grobstock's  composure 
began  to  desert  him  :  he  took  out  his  handsomely  ornamented 


"ADMINISTERED  A  MIGHTY  PINCH." 

snuff-box  and  administered  to  himself  a  mighty  pinch.  It 
did  him  good,  and  he  walked  on  and  was  well  nigh  arrived 
at  his  own  door  when  Manasseh  suddenly  caught  him  by  a 
coat  button. 

"  Stand  still  a  second,"  he  cried  imperatively. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  25 

"  What  is  it?  "  murmured  Grobstock,  in  alarm. 

"  You  have  spilt  snuff  all  down  your  coat  front,"  Manasseh 
replied  severely.  "  Hold  the  bag  a  moment  while  I  brush 
it  off." 

Joseph  obeyed,  and  Manasseh  scrupulously  removed 
every  particle  with  such  patience  that  Grobstock's  was 
exhausted. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  at  last,  as  politely  as  he  could. 
"  That  will  do." 

" No,  it  will  not  do,"  replied  Manasseh.  "I  cannot  have 
my  coat  spoiled.  By  the  time  it  comes  to  me  it  will  be 
a  mass  of  stains  if  I  don't  look  after  it." 

"Oh,  is  that  why  you  took  so  much  trouble?"  said 
Grobstock,  with  an  uneasy  laugh. 

"  Why  else  ?  Do  you  take  me  for  a  beadle,  a  brasher 
of  gaiters?  "  enquired  Manasseh  haughtily.  "  There  now  ! 
that  is  the  cleanest  I  can  get  it.  You  would  escape  these 
droppings  if  you  held  your  snuff-box  so  — "  Manasseh 
gently  took  the  snuff-box  and  began  to  explain,  walking  on 
a  few  paces. 

"Ah,  we  are  at  home!"  he  cried,  breaking  off  the 
object-lesson  suddenly.  He  pushed  open  the  gate,  ran  up 
the  steps  of  the  mansion  and  knocked  thunderously,  then 
snuffed  himself  magnificently  from  the  bejewelled  snuff-box. 

Behind  came  Joseph  Grobstock,  slouching  limply,  and 
carrying  Manasseh  da  Costa's  fish. 


26  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

CHAPTER    II. 

SHOWING   HOW  THE   KING   REIGNED. 

WHEN  he  realised  that  he  had  been  turned  into  a  fish- 
porter,  the  financier  hastened  up  the  steps  so  as  to  be  at 
the  Schnorrer's  side  when  the  door  opened. 

The  livery-servant  was  visibly  taken  aback  by  the  spectacle 
of  their  juxtaposition. 

"  This  salmon  to  the  cook  ! "  cried  Grobstock  desperately, 
handing  him  the  bag. 

Da  Costa  looked  thunders,  and  was  about  to  speak,  but 
Grobstock's  eye  sought  his  in  frantic  appeal.  "Wait  a 
minute ;  I  will  settle  with  you,"  he  cried,  congratulating 
himself  on  a  phrase  that  would  carry  another  meaning  to 
Wilkinson's  ears.  He  drew  a  breath  of  relief  when  the 
flunkey  disappeared,  and  left  them  standing  in  the  spacious 
hall  with  its  statues  and  plants. 

"  Is  this  the  way  you  steal  my  salmon,  after  all  ?  "  demanded 
da  Costa  hotly. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  I  didn't  mean  to  steal  it !  I  will  pay 
you  for  it !  " 

"  I  refuse  to  sell !  You  coveted  it  from  the  first  —  you 
have  broken  the  Tenth  Commandment,  even  as  these  stone 
figures  violate  the  Second.  Your  invitation  to  me  to  accom- 
pany you  here  at  once  was  a  mere  trick.  Now  I  understand 
why  you  were  so  eager." 

"  No,  no,  da  Costa.  Seeing  that  you  placed  the  fish  in 
my  hands,  I  had  no  option  but  to  give  it  to  Wilkinson, 
because  —  because  — "  Grobstock  would  have  had  some 
difficulty  in  explaining,  but  Manasseh  saved  him  the  pain. 

"  You  had  to  give  my  fish  to  Wilkinson  !  "  he  interrupted. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


27 


"  Sir,  I  thought  you  were  a  fine  man,  a  man  of  honour.     I 
admit  that  I  placed  my  fish  in  your  hands.     But  because  I 


'THIS   SALMON  TO  THE  COOK! 


had  no  hesitation  in  allowing  you  to  carry  it,  this  is  how  you 
repay  my  confidence  !  " 

In  the  whirl  of  his  thoughts  Grobstock  grasped  at  the 
word  "  repay  "  as  a  swimmer  in  a  whirlpool  grasps  at  a  straw. 


28  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  I  will  repay  your  money  !  "  he  cried.  "  Here  are  your 
two  guineas.  You  will  get  another  salmon,  and  more 
cheaply.  As  you  pointed  out,  you  could  have  got  this  for 
twenty-five  shillings." 

"  Two  guineas  !  "  ejaculated  Manasseh  contemptuously. 
"  Why  you  offered  Jonathan,  the  fishmonger,  three  !  " 

Grobstock  was  astounded,  but  it  was  beneath  him  to  bar- 
gain. And  he  remembered  that,  after  all,  he  would  enjoy 
the  salmon. 

"  Well,  here  are  three  guineas,"  he  said  pacifically,  offer- 
ing them. 

"  Three  guineas  ! "  echoed  Manasseh,  spurning  them. 
"And  what  of  my  profit?" 

"  Profit !  "  gasped  Grobstock. 

"  Since  you  have  made  me  a  middle-man,  since  you  have 
forced  me  into  the  fish  trade,  I  must  have  my  profits  like 
anybody  else." 

"  Here  is  a  crown  extra  !  " 

"  And  my  compensation?" 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  enquired  Grobstock,  exasperated. 
"  Compensation  for  what?  " 

"  For  what?  For  two  things  at  the  very  least,"  Manasseh 
said  unswervingly.  "  In  the  first  place,"  and  as  he  began 
his  logically  divided  reply  his  tone  assumed  the  sing-song 
sacred  to  Talmudical  dialectics,  "  compensation  for  not 
eating  the  salmon  myself.  For  it  is  not  as  if  I  offered  it 
you  —  I  merely  entrusted  it  to  you,  and  it  is  ordained  in 
Exodus  that  if  a  man  shall  deliver  unto  his  neighbour  an 
ass,  or  an  ox,  or  a  sheep,  or  any  beast  to  keep,  then  for 
every  matter  of  trespass,  whether  it  be  for  ox,  for  ass,  for 
sheep,  for  raiment,  or  for  any  manner  of  lost  thing,  the 
man  shall  receive  double,  and  therefore  you  should  pay  me 
six  guineas.  And  secondly  —  " 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  29 

"  Not  another  farthing  !  "  spluttered  Grobstock,  red  as 
a  turkey-cock. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Schnorrer  imperturbably,  and, 
lifting  up  his  voice,  he  called  "  Wilkinson  !  " 

"  Hush  ! "  commanded  Grobstock.  "  What  are  you 
doing  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  Wilkinson  to  bring  back  my  property." 

"  Wilkinson  will  not  obey  you." 

"  Not  obey  me .'  A  servant !  Why  he  is  not  even  black  ! 
All  the  Sephardim  I  visit  have  black  pages  —  much  grander 
than  Wilkinson  —  and  they  tremble  at  my  nod.  At  Baron 
D'Aguilar's  mansion  in  Broad  Street  Buildings  there  is  a 
retinue  of  twenty-four  servants,  and  they — " 

"  And  what  is  your  second  claim  ?  " 

"  Compensation  for  being  degraded  to  fishmongering.  I 
am  not  of  those  who  sell  things  in  the  streets.  I  am  a  son 
of  the  Law,  a  student  of  the  Talmud." 

"  If  a  crown  piece  will  satisfy  each  of  these  claims  —  " 

"  I  am  not  a  blood-sucker  —  as  it  is  said  in  the  Talmud, 
Tractate  Passover,  '  God  loves  the  man  who  gives  not  way 
to  wrath  nor  stickles  for  his  rights  '  —  that  makes  altogether 
three  guineas  and  three  crowns." 

"  Yes.     Here  they  are." 

Wilkinson  reappeared.     "You  called  me,  sir?"  he  said. 

"  No,  /  called  you,"  said  Manasseh,  "  I  wished  to  give 
you  a  crown." 

And  he  handed  him  one  of  the  three.  Wilkinson  took  it, 
stupefied,  and  retired. 

"Did  I  not  get  rid  of  him  cleverly?"  said  Manasseh. 
"  You  see  how  he  obeys  me  !  " 

"Ye-es." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  you  for  more  than  the  bare  crown  I  gave 
him  to  save  your  honour." 


30  THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"To  save  my  honour  !  " 

"  Would  you  have  had  me  tell  him  the  real  reason  I 
called  him  was  that  his  master  was  a  thief?  No,  sir,  I  was 
careful  not  to  shed  your  blood  in  public,  though  you  had  no 
such  care  for  mine." 

"  Here  is  the  crown  !  "  said  Grobstock  savagely.  "  Nay, 
here  are  three  !  "  He  turned  out  his  breeches-pockets  to 
exhibit  their  absolute  nudity. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Manasseh  mildly,  "  I  shall  take  but  two. 
You  had  best  keep  the  other — you  may  want  a  little  silver." 
He  pressed  it  into  the  magnate's  hand. 

"You  should  not  be  so  prodigal  in  future,"  he  added,  in 
kindly  reproach.  "  It  is  bad  to  be  left  with  nothing  in  one's 
pocket  —  I  know  the  feeling,  and  can  sympathise  with  you." 
Grobstock  stood  speechless,  clasping  the  crown  of  charity. 

Standing  thus  at  the  hall  door,  he  had  the  air  of  Wilkin- 
son, surprised  by  a  too  generous  vail. 

Da  Costa  cut  short  the  crisis  by  offering  his  host  a  pinch 
from  the  jewel-crusted  snuff-box.  Grobstock  greedily  took 
the  whole  box,  the  beggar  resigning  it  to  him  without  pro- 
test. In  his  gratitude  for  this  unexpected  favour,  Grobstock 
pocketed  the  silver  insult  without  further  ado,  and  led  the 
way  towards  the  second-hand  clothes.  He  walked  gingerly, 
so  as  not  to  awaken  his  wife,  who  was  a  great  amateur  ot 
the  siesta,  and  might  issue  suddenly  from  her  apartment  like 
a  spider,  but  Manasseh  stolidly  thumped  on  the  stairs  with 
his  staff.  Happily  the  carpet  was  thick. 

The  clothes  hung  in  a  mahogany  wardrobe  with  a  plate- 
glass  front  in  Grobstock's  elegantly  appointed  bedchamber. 

Grobstock  rummaged  among  them  while  Manasseh, 
parting  the  white  Persian  curtains  lined  with  pale  pink, 
gazed  out  of  the  window  towards  the  Tenterground  that 
stretched  in  the  rear  of  the  mansion.  Leaning  on  his  staff, 


THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 


31 


r 


he  watched  the  couples  promenading  among  the  sunlit  par- 
terres and  amid  the  shrubberies,  in  the  cool  freshness  of  de- 
clining day.  Here 
and  there  the  vivid 
face  of  a  dark-eyed 
beauty  gleamed  like 
a  passion  -  flower. 
Manasseh  surveyed 
the  scene  with  bland 
benevolence ;  at 
peace  with  God  and 
man. 

He  did  not  deign 
to  bestow  a  glance 
upon  the  garments 
till  Grobstock  ob- 
served :  "  There  !  I 
think  that's  all  I  can 
spare."  Then  he 
turned  leisurely  and 
regarded  —  with  the 
same  benign  aspect 
—  the  litter  Grob- 
stock had  spread 
upon  the  bed  —  a 
medley  of  articles 
in  excellent  condi- 
tion, gorgeous  neck- 
erchiefs piled  in 

three-cornered  hats,  and  buckled  shoes  trampling  on  white 
waistcoats.  But  his  eye  had  scarcely  rested  on  them  a 
quarter  of  a  minute  when  a  sudden  flash  came  into  it,  and  a 
spasm  crossed  his  face. 


'GROBSTOCK   RUMMAGED   AMONG  THEM." 


32  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  Excuse  me  !  "  he  cried,  and  hastened  towards  the  door. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  exclaimed  Grobstock,  in  astonished 
apprehension.  Was  his  gift  to  be  flouted  thus  ? 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  moment,"  said  Manasseh,  and  hurried 
down  the  stairs. 

Relieved  on  one  point,  Grobstock  was  still  full  of  vague 
alarms.  He  ran  out  on  the  landing.  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 
he  called  down  as  loudly  as  he  dared. 

"  My  money  ! "  said  Manasseh. 

Imagining  that  the  Schnorrer  had  left  the  proceeds  of 
the  sale  of  the  salmon  in  the  hall,  Joseph  Grobstock  returned 
to  his  room,  and  occupied  himself  half-mechanically  in  sort- 
ing the  garments  he  had  thrown  higgledy-piggledy  upon  the 
bed.  In  so  doing  he  espied  amid  the  heap  a  pair  of  panta- 
loons entirely  new  and  unworn  which  he  had  carelessly 
thrown  in.  It  was  while  replacing  this  in  the  wardrobe  that 
he  heard  sounds  of  objurgation.  The  cook's  voice  —  Hiber- 
nian and  high-pitched  —  travelled  unmistakably  to  his  ears, 
and  brought  fresh  trepidation  to  his  heart.  He  repaired  to 
the  landing  again,  and  craned  his  neck  over  the  balustrade. 
Happily  the  sounds  were  evanescent ;  in  another  minute 
Manasseh's  head  reappeared,  mounting.  When  his  left 
hand  came  in  sight,  Grobstock  perceived  it  was  grasping 
the  lucky-bag  with  which  a  certain  philanthropist  had  started 
out  so  joyously  that  afternoon.  The  unlucky-bag  he  felt 
inclined  to  dub  it  now. 

"  I  have  recovered  it !  "  observed  the  Schnorrer  cheer- 
fully. "  As  it  is  written,  '  And  David  recovered  all  that  the 
Amalekites  had  taken.'  You  see  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  I  did  not  notice  that  you  had  stolen  my  packets  of 
silver  as  well  as  my  salmon.  Luckily  your  cook  had  not 
yet  removed  the  fish  from  the  bag  —  I  chid  her  all  the  same 
for  neglecting  to  put  it  into  water,  and  she  opened  her 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  33 

mouth  not  in  wisdom.  If  she  had  not  been  a  heathen  I 
should  have  suspected  her  of  trickery,  for  I  knew  nothing  of 
the  amount  of  money  in  the  bag,  saving  your  assurance  that 
it  did  not  fall  below  seventeen  shillings,  and  it  would  have 
been  easy  for  her  to  replace  the  fish.  Therefore,  in  the 
words  of  David,  will  I  give  thanks  unto  Thee,  O  Lord, 
among  the  heathen." 

The  mental  vision  of  the  irruption  of  Manasseh  into  the 
kitchen  was  not  pleasant  to  Grobstock.  However,  he  only 
murmured  :  "  How  came  you  to  think  of  it  so  suddenly?" 

"  Looking  at  your  clothes  reminded  me.  I  was  wonder- 
ing if  you  had  left  anything  in  the  pockets." 

The  donor  started  —  he  knew  himself  a  careless  rascal  — 
and  made  as  if  he  would  overhaul  his  garments.  The  glitter 
in  Manasseh's  eye  petrified  him. 

"Do  you  —  do  you  —  mind  my  looking?  "  he  stammered 
apologetically. 

"Am  I  a  dog?"  quoted  the  Schnorrer  with  dignity. 
"Am  I  a  thief  that  you  should  go  over  my  pockets?  If, 
when  I  get  home,"  he  conceded,  commencing  to  draw  dis- 
tinctions with  his  thumb,  "  I  should  find  anything  in  my 
pockets  that  is  of  no  value  to  anybody  but  you,  do  you  fear 
I  will  not  return  it  ?  If,  on  the  other  hand,  I  find  anything 
that  is  of  value  to  me,  do  you  fear  I  will  not  keep  it?" 

"No,  but  —  but  —  "  Grobstock  broke  down,  scarcely 
grasping  the  argumentation  despite  his  own  clarity  of  finan- 
cial insight ;  he  only  felt  vaguely  that  the  Schnorrer  was  — 
professionally  enough  —  begging  the  question. 

"  But  what?  "  enquired  Manasseh.  "  Surely  you  need  not 
me  to  teach  you  your  duty.  You  cannot  be  ignorant  of  the 
Law  of  Moses  on  the  point." 

"  The  Law  of  Moses  says  nothing  on  the  point !  " 

"  Indeed  !     What  says  Deuteronomy  ?    '  When  thou  reap- 


34  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

est  thine  harvest  in  thy  field,  and  hast  forgot  a  sheaf  in  the 
field,  thou  shalt  not  go  again  to  fetch  it :  it  shall  be  for  the 
stranger,  for  the  fatherless,  and  for  the  widow.1  Is  it  not 
further  forbidden  to  go  over  the  boughs  of  thy  olive-tree 
again,  or  to  gather  the  fallen  fruit  of  thy  vineyard?  You 
will  admit  that  Moses  would  have  added  a  prohibition 
against  searching  minutely  the  pockets  of  cast-off  garments, 
were  it  not  that  for  forty  years  our  ancestors  had  to  wander 
in  the  wilderness  in  the  same  clothes,  which  miraculously 
waxed  with  their  growth.  No,  I  feel  sure  you  will  respect 
the  spirit  of  the  law,  for  when  I  went  down  into  your  kitchen 
and  examined  the  door-post  to  see  if  you  had  nailed  up  a 
mezuzah  upon  it,  knowing  that  many  Jews  only  flaunt  mezu- 
zahs  on  door-posts  visible  to  visitors,  it  rejoiced  me  to  find 
one  below  stairs." 

Grobstock's  magnanimity  responded  to  the  appeal.  It 
would  be  indeed  petty  to  scrutinise  his  pockets,  or  to  feel 
the  linings  for  odd  coins.  After  all  he  had  Manasseh's 
promise  to  restore  papers  and  everything  of  no  value. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said  pleasantly,  consoled  by  the  thought 
his  troubles  had  now  come  to  an  end  —  for  that  day  at 
least  —  "  take  them  away  as  they  are." 

"  It  is  all  very  well  to  say  take  them  away,"  replied 
Manasseh,  with  a  touch  of  resentment,  "  but  what  am  I  to 
take  them  in? " 

"  Oh  —  ah  —  yes  !    There  must  be  a  sack  somewhere  —  " 

"  And  do  you  think  I  would  carry  them  away  in  a  sack  ? 
Would  you  have  me  look  like  an  old  clo'  man?  I  must 
have  a  box.  I  see  several  in  the  box-room." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Grobstock  resignedly.  "  If  there's  an 
empty  one  you  may  have  it." 

Manasseh  laid  his  stick  on  the  dressing-table  and  carefully 
examined  the  boxes,  some  of  which  were  carelessly  open, 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


35 


while  every  lock  had  a  key  sticking  in  it.  They  had  travelled 
far  and  wide  with  Grobstock,  who  invariably  combined 
pleasure  with  business. 

"There  is  none  quite  empty,"  announced  the  Schnorrer, 
"but  in  this  one  there  are  only  a  few  trifles  —  a  pair  of 


"MANASSEH   CAREFULLY   EXAMINED   THE  BOXES." 

galligaskins  and  such  like  —  so  that  if  you  make  me  a 
present  of  them  the  box  will  be  empty,  so  far  as  you  are 
concerned." 

"  All  right,"  said  Grobstock,  and  actually  laughed.  The 
nearer  the  departure  of  the  Schnorrer,  the  higher  his  spirits 
rose. 

Manasseh  dragged  the  box  towards  the  bed,  and  then  for 


36  THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 

the  first  time  since  his  return  from  the  under- regions,  sur- 
veyed the  medley  of  garments  upon  it 

The  light-hearted  philanthropist,  watching  his  face,  saw  it 
instantly  change  to  darkness,  like  a  tropical  landscape.  His 
own  face  grew  white.  The  Schnorrer  uttered  an  inarticulate 
cry,  and  turned  a  strange,  questioning  glance  upon  his 
patron. 

"What  is  it  now?"  faltered  Grobstock. 

"  I  miss  a  pair  of  pantaloons  !  " 

Grobstock  grew  whiter.  "  Nonsense  !  nonsense  !  "  he 
muttered. 

"I  —  miss — a  —  pair  —  of  —  pantaloons  !  "  reiterated  the 
Schnorrer  deliberately. 

"Oh,  no  —  you  have  all  I  can  spare  there,"  said  Grob- 
stock uneasily.  The  Schnorrer  hastily  turned  over  the 
heap. 

Then  his  eye  flashed  fire ;  he  banged  his  fist  on  the 
dressing-table  to  accompany  each  staccato  syllable. 

"I  —  miss  —  a  —  pair  —  of  —  pan  —  ta  —  loons  !  "  he 
shrieked. 

The  weak  and  ductile  donor  had  a  bad  quarter  of  a 
minute. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  stammered  at  last,  "  you  —  m  —  mean  — 
the  new  pair  I  found  had  got  accidentally  mixed  up  with 
them." 

"  Of  course  I  mean  the  new  pair  !  And  so  you  took  them 
away !  Just  because  I  wasn't  looking.  I  left  the  room, 
thinking  I  had  to  do  with  a  man  of  honour.  If  you  had 
taken  an  old  pair  I  shouldn't  have  minded  so  much ;  but 
to  rob  a  poor  man  of  his  brand-new  breeches  !  " 

"  I  must  have  them,"  cried  Grobstock  irascibly.  "  I  have 
to  go  to  a  reception  to-morrow,  and  they  are  the  only  pair 
I  shall  have  to  wear.  You  see  I  —  " 


I   MISS  A  PAIR   OF  PANTALOONS  !  '   HE   SHRIEKED." 


37 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


"  Oh,  very  well,"  interrupted  the  Schnorrer,  in  low,  indif- 
ferent tones. 

After  that  there  was  a  dead  silence.  The  Schnorrer 
majestically  folded  some  silk  stockings  and  laid  them  in  the 
box.  Upon  them  he  packed  other  garments  in  stern,  sor- 
rowful hauteur.  Grobstock's  soul  be- 
gan to  tingle  with  pricks  of  compunc- 
tion. Da  Costa  completed  his  task, 
but  could  not  shut  the  overcrowded 
box.  Grobstock  silently  seated  his 
weighty  person  upon  the  lid.  Ma- 
nasseh  neither  resented  nor  welcomed 
him.  When  he  had 
turned  the  key  he 
mutely  tilted  the  sit- 
ter off  the  box  and 
shouldered  it  with 
consummate  ease. 
Then  he  took  his 
staff  and  strode  from 
the  room.  Grob- 
stock would  have  fol- 
lowed him,  but  the 
Schnorrer  waved 
him  back. 

"  On  Friday,  then,"  the  conscience-stricken  magnate  said 
feebly. 

Manasseh  did  not  reply;  he  slammed  the  door  instead, 
shutting  in  the  master  of  the  house. 

Grobstock  fell  back  on  the  bed  exhausted,  looking  not 
unlike  the  tumbled  litter  of  clothes  he  replaced.  In  a 
minute  or  two  he  raised  himself  and  went  to  the  window, 
and  stood  watching  the  sun  set  behind  the  trees  of  the 


'TILTED  THE  SITTER  OFF  THE  BOX." 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  39 

Tenterground.  "  At  any  rate  I've  done  with  him,"  he  said, 
and  hummed  a  tune.  The  sudden  bursting  open  of  the  door 
froze  it  upon  his  lips.  He  was  almost  relieved  to  find  the 
intruder  was  only  his  wife. 

"What  have  you  done  with  Wilkinson?"  she  cried  vehe- 
mently. She  was  a  pale,  puffy-faced,  portly  matron,  with  a 
permanent  air  of  remembering  the  exact  figure  of  her  dowry. 

"With  Wilkinson,  my  dear?     Nothing." 

"  Well,  he  isn't  in  the  house.  I  want  him,  but  cook  says 
you've  sent  him  out." 

"  I  ?  Oh,  no,"  he  returned,  with  dawning  uneasiness, 
looking  away  from  her  sceptical  gaze. 

Suddenly  his  pupils  dilated.  A  picture  from  without  had 
painted  itself  on  his  retina.  It  was  a  picture  of  Wilkinson  — 
Wilkinson  the  austere,  Wilkinson  the  unbending  —  treading 
the  Tenterground  gravel,  curved  beneath  a  box  !  Before 
him  strode  the  Schnorrer. 

Never  dujing  all  his  tenure  of  service  in  Goodman's 
Fields  had  Wilkinson  carried  anything  on  his  shoulders  but 
his  livery.  Grobstock  would  have  as  soon  dreamt  of  his 
wife  consenting  to  wear  cotton.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  but 
the  image  persisted. 

He  clutched  at  the  window  curtains  to  steady  himself. 

"  My  Persian  curtains  ! "  cried  his  wife.  "  What  is  the 
matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  He  must  be  the  Baal  Shem  himself ! "  gasped  Grobstock 
unheeding. 

"  What  is  it?     What  are  you  looking  at? " 

"  N  —  nothing." 

Mrs.  Grobstock  incredulously  approached  the  window  and 
stared  through  the  panes.  She  saw  Wilkinson  in  the  gardens, 
but  did  .not  recognise  him  in  his  new  attitude.  She  con- 
cluded that  her  husband's  agitation  must  have  some  connec- 


40  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

tion  with  a  beautiful  brunette  who  was  tasting  the  cool  of  the 
evening  in  a  sedan  chair,  and  it  was  with  a  touch  of  asperity 
that  she  said :  "  Cook  complains  of  being  insulted  by  a 
saucy  fellow  who  brought  home  your  fish." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  poor  Grobstock.  Was  he  never  to  be  done 
with  the  man? 

"  How  came  you  to  send  him  to  her?" 

His  anger  against  Manasseh  resurged  under  his  wife's 
peevishness. 

"My  dear,"  he  cried,  "I  did  not  send  him  anywhere  — 
except  to  the  devil." 

"Joseph  !  You  might  keep  such  language  for  the  ears  of 
creatures  in  sedan  chairs." 

And  Mrs.  Grobstock  flounced  out  of  the  room  with  a 
rustle  of  angry  satin. 

When  Wilkinson  reappeared,  limp  and  tired,  with  his 
pompousness  exuded  in  perspiration,  he  sought  his  master 
with  a  message,  which  he  delivered  ere  the  flood  of  interro- 
gation could  burst  from  Grobstock's  lips. 

"  Mr.  da  Costa  presents  his  compliments,  and  says  that  he 
has  decided  on  reconsideration  not  to  break  his  promise  to 
be  with  you  on  Friday  evening." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  said  Grobstock  grimly.  "  And,  pray,  how 
came  you  to  carry  his  box  ?  " 

"  You  told  me  to,  sir  !  " 

"/  told  you  !  " 

"  I  mean  he  told  me  you  told  me  to,"  said  Wilkinson 
wonderingly.  "  Didn't  you  ?  " 

Grobstock  hesitated.  Since  Manasseh  would  be  his 
guest,  was  it  not  imprudent  to  give  him  away  to  the  livery- 
servant?  Besides,  he  felt  a  secret  pleasure  in  Wilkinson's 
humiliation  —  but  for  the  Schnorrer  he  would  never  have 
known  that  Wilkinson's  gold  lace  concealed  a  pliable  per- 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  41 

sonality.  The  proverb  "  Like  master  like  man "  did  not 
occur  to  Grobstock  at  this  juncture. 

"I  only  meant  you  to  carry  it  to  a  coach,"  he  murmured. 

"  He  said  it  was  not  worth  while  —  the  distance  was  so 
short." 

"Ah!  Did  you  see  his  house?"  enquired  Grobstock 
curiously. 

"  Yes ;  a  very  fine  house  in  Aldgate,  with  a  handsome 
portico  and  two  stone  lions." 

Grobstock  strove  hard  not  to  look  surprised. 

"  I  handed  the  box  to  the  footman." 

Grobstock  strove  harder. 

Wilkinson  ended  with  a  weak  smile  :  "  Would  you  believe, 
sir,  I  thought  at  first  he  brought  home  your  fish  !  He 
dresses  so  peculiarly.  He  must  be  an  original." 

"Yes,  yes;  an  eccentric  like  Baron  D'Aguilar,  whom  he 
visits,"  said  Grobstock  eagerly.  He  wondered,  indeed, 
whether  he  was  not  speaking  the  truth.  Could  he  have 
been  the  victim  of  a  practical  joke,  a  prank?  Did  not 
a  natural  aristocracy  ooze  from  every  pore  of  his  mysterious 
visitor?  Was  not  every  tone,  every  gesture,  that  of  a  man 
born  to  rule?  "You  must  remember,  too,"  he  added, 
"that  he  is  a  Spaniard." 

"Ah,  I  see,"  said  Wilkinson  in  profound  accents. 

"  I  daresay  he  dresses  like  everybody  else,  though,  when 
he  dines  or  sups,  out,"  Grobstock  added  lightly.  "  I  only 
brought  him  in  by  accident.  But  go  to  your  mistress  !  She 
wants  you." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  he  hopes 
you  will  save  him  a  slice  of  his  salmon." 

"  Go  to  your  mistress  !  " 

"  You  did  not  tell  me  a  Spanish  nobleman  was  coming 
to  us  on  Friday,"  said  his  spouse  later  in  the  evening. 


42  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  No,"  he  admitted  curtly. 

"  But  is  he  ?  " 

"  No  —  at  least,  not  a  nobleman." 

"What  then?  I  have  to  learn  about  my  guests  from 
my  servants." 

"  Apparently." 

"  Oh  !  and  you  think  that's  right !  " 

"  To  gossip  with  your  servants?     Certainly  not." 

"  If  my  husband  will  not  tell  me  anything  —  if  he  has 
only  eyes  for  sedan  chairs." 

Joseph  thought  it  best  to  kiss  Mrs.  Grobstock. 

"  A  fellow- Director,  I  suppose?  "  she  urged,  more  mildly. 

"  A  fellow-Israelite.     He  has  promised  to  come  at  six." 

Manasseh  was  punctual  to  the  second.  Wilkinson  ushered 
him  in.  The  hostess  had  robed  herself  in  her  best  to  do 
honour  to  a  situation  which  her  husband  awaited  with  what 
hope  he  could.  She  looked  radiant  in  a  gown  of  blue  silk  ; 
her  hair  was  done  in  a  tuft  and  round  her  neck  was  an 
"  esclavage,"  consisting  of  festoons  of  gold  chains.  The 
Sabbath  table  was  equally  festive  with  its  ponderous  silver 
candelabra,  coffee-urn,  and  consecration  cup,  its  flower- 
vases,  and  fruit-salvers.  The  dining-room  itself  was  a 
handsome  apartment;  its  buffets  glittered  with  Venetian 
glass  and  Dresden  porcelain,  and  here  and  there  gilt 
pedestals  supported  globes  of  gold  and  silver  fish. 

At  the  first  glance  at  his  guest  Grobstock's  blood  ran 
cold. 

Manasseh  had  not  turned  a  hair,  nor  changed  a  single 
garment.  At  the  next  glance  Grobstock's  blood  boiled.  A 
second  figure  loomed  in  Manasseh's  wake — a  short  Schnorijer, 
even  dingier  than  da  Costa,  and  with  none  of  his  dignity,  a 
clumsy,  stooping  Schnorrer,  with  a  cajoling  grin  on  his  mud- 
coloured,  hairy  face.  Neither  removed  his  headgear. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


43 


Mrs.  Grobstock  remained  glued  to  her  chair  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Peace  be  unto  you,"  said  the  King  of  Schnorrers,  "  I 

•"„ 


"THOUGHT   IT  BEST  TO   KISS   MRS.   GROBSTOCK." 

have  brought  with  me  my  friend  Yankele"  ben  Yitzchok  of 
whom  I  told  you." 

Yankele"  nodded,  grinning  harder  than  ever. 

"You  never  told  me  he  was  coming,"  Grobstock  rejoined, 
with  an  apoplectic  air. 


44  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"Did  I  not  tell  you  that  he  always  supped  with  me  on 
Friday  evenings? "  Manasseh  reminded  him  quietly.  "  It  is 
so  good  of  him  to  accompany  me  even  here  —  he  will  make 
the  necessary  third  at  grace." 

The  host  took  a  frantic  surreptitious  glance  at  his  wife. 
It  was  evident  that  her  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  the  evidence  of 
her  senses  conflicting  with  vague  doubts  of  the  possibilities 
of  Spanish  grandeeism  and  with  a  lingering  belief  in  her 
husband's  sanity. 

Grobstock  resolved  to  snatch  the  benefit  of  her  doubts. 
"My  dear,"  said  he,  "  this  is  Mr.  da  Costa." 

"  Manasseh  Bueno  Barzillai  Azevedo  da  Costa,"  said  the 
Schnorrer. 

The  dame  seemed  a  whit  startled  and  impressed.  She 
bowed,  but  words  of  welcome  were  still  congealed  in  her 
throat. 

"And  this  is  Yanked  ben  Yitzchok,"  added  Manasseh. 
"A  poor  friend  of  mine.  I  do  not  doubt,  Mrs.  Grobstock, 
that  as  a  pious  woman,  the  daughter  of  Moses  Bernberg  (his 
memory  for  a  blessing),  you  prefer  grace  with  three." 

"Any  friend  of  yours  is  welcome  !  "  She  found  her  lips 
murmuring  the  conventional  phrase  without  being  able  to 
check  their  output. 

"  I  never  doubted  that  either,"  said  Manasseh  gracefully. 
"  Is  not  the  hospitality  of  Moses  Bernberg's  beautiful  daugh- 
ter a  proverb?  " 

Moses  Bernberg's  daughter  could  not  deny  this ;  her  salon 
was  the  rendezvous  of  rich  bagmen,  brokers  and  bankers, 
tempered  by  occasional  young  bloods  and  old  bucks  not  of 
the  Jewish  faith  (nor  any  other).  But  she  had  never  before 
encountered  a  personage  so  magnificently  shabby,  nor  ex- 
tended her  proverbial  hospitality  to  a  Polish  Schnorrer  un- 
compromisingly musty.  Joseph  did  not  dare  meet  her  eye. 


AND  THIS   IS  YANKELE  BEN  YITZCHOK,'   ADDED  MANASSEH. 


46  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  Sit  down  there,  Yankele","  he  said  hurriedly,  in  ghastly 
genial  accents,  and  he  indicated  a  chair  at  the  farthest  pos- 
sible point  from  the  hostess.  He  placed  Manasseh  next  to 
his  Polish  parasite,  and  seated  himself  as  a  buffer  between 
his  guests  and  his  wife.  He  was  burning  with  inward  indig- 
nation at  the  futile  rifling  of  his  wardrobe,  but  he  dared  not 
say  anything  in  the  hearing  of  his  spouse. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  custom,  this  of  the  Sabbath  guest,  is  it 
not,  Mrs.  Grobstock  ?  "  remarked  Manasseh  as  he  took  his 
seat.  "  I  never  neglect  it  —  even  when  I  go  out  to  the 
Sabbath-meal  as  to-night." 

The  late  Miss  Bernberg  was  suddenly  reminded  of  auld 
lang  syne  :  her  father  (who  according  to  a  wag  of  the  period 
had  divided  his  time  between  the  Law  and  the  profits)  hav- 
ing been  a  depositary  of  ancient  tradition.  Perhaps  these 
obsolescent  customs,  unsuited  to  prosperous  times,  had 
lingered  longer  among  the  Spanish  grandees.  She  seized  an 
early  opportunity,  when  the  Sephardic  Schnorrer  was  taking 
his  coffee  from  Wilkinson,  of  putting  the  question  to  her 
husband,  who  fell  in  weakly  with  her  illusions.  He  knew 
there  was  no  danger  of  Manasseh's  beggarly  status  leaking 
out ;  no  expressions  of  gratitude  were  likely  to  fall  from  that 
gentleman's  lips.  He  even  hinted  that  da  Costa  dressed  so 
fustily  to  keep  his  poor  friend  in  countenance.  Neverthe- 
less, Mrs.  Grobstock,  while  not  without  admiration  for  the 
Quixotism,  was  not  without  resentment  for  being  dragged  into 
it.  She  felt  that  such  charity  should  begin  and  end  at  home. 

"  I  see  you  did  save  me  a  slice  of  salmon,"  said  Manasseh, 
manipulating  his  fish. 

"What  salmon  was  that?"  asked  the  hostess,  pricking  up 
her  ears. 

"  One  I  had  from  Mr.  da  Costa  on  Wednesday,"  said  the 
host. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  47 

"  Oh,  that !  It  was  delicious.  I  am  sure  it  was  very 
kind  of  you,  Mr.  da  Costa,  to  make  us  such  a  nice  present," 
said  the  hostess,  her  resentment  diminishing.  "  We  had 
company  last  night,  and  everybody  praised  it  till  none  was 
left.  This  is  another,  but  I  hope  it  is  to  your  liking,"  she 
finished  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  it's  very  fair,  very  fair,  indeed.  I  don't  know  when 
I've  tasted  better,  except  at  the  house  of  the  President  of 
the  Deputados.  But  Yankele  here  is  a  connoisseur  in  fish, 
not  easy  to  please.  What  say  you,  Yankele"  ?  " 

Yankele"  munched  a  muffled  approval. 

"  Help  yourself  to  more  bread  and  butter,  Yankele,"  said 
Manasseh.  "Make  yourself  at  home  —  remember  you're 
my  guest."  Silently  he  added  :  "The  other  fork  !  " 

Grobstock's  irritation  found  vent  in  a  complaint  that  the 
salad  wanted  vinegar. 

"How  can  you  say  so?  It's  perfect,"  said  Mrs.  Grob- 
stock.  "  Salad  is  cook's  speciality." 

Manasseh  tasted  it  critically.  "  On  salads  you  must  come 
to  me,"  he  said.  "  It  does  not  want  vinegar,"  was  his  ver- 
dict ;  "  but  a  little  more  oil  would  certainly  improve  it.  Oh, 
there  is  no  one  dresses  salad  like  Hyman  !  " 

Hyman's  fame  as  the  Kosher  chef  who  superintended 
the  big  dinners  at  the  London  Tavern  had  reached 
Mrs.  Grobstock's  ears,  and  she  was  proportionately  im- 
pressed. 

"  They  say  his  pastry  is  so  good,"  she  observed,  to  be  in 
the  running. 

"  Yes,"  said  Manasseh,  "  in  kneading  and  puffing  he  stands 
alone." 

"Our  cook's  tarts  are  quite  as  nice,"  said  Grobstock 
roughly. 

"  We  shall  see,"  Manasseh  replied  guardedly.     "  Though, 


48  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

as  for  almond-cakes,  Hyman  himself  makes  none  better  than 
I  get  from  my  cousin,  Barzillai  of  Fenchurch  Street." 

"  Your  cousin  !  "  exclaimed  Grobstock,  "  the  West  Indian 
merchant !  " 

"The  same  —  formerly  of  Barbadoes.  Still,  your  cook 
knows  how  to  make  coffee,  though  I  can  tell  you  do  not  get 
it  direct  from  the  plantation  like  the  wardens  of  my  Syna- 
gogue." 

Grobstock  was  once  again  piqued  with  curiosity  as  to  the 
Schnorrer' s  identity. 

"  You  accuse  me  of  having  stone  figures  in  my  house,"  he 
said  boldly,  "  but  what  about  the  lions  in  front  of  yours?  " 

"  I  have  no  lions,"  said  Manasseh. 

"  Wilkinson  told  me  so.     Didn't  you,  Wilkinson  ?  " 

"Wilkinson  is  a  slanderer.  That  was  the  house  of  Na- 
thaniel Furtado." 

Grobstock  began  to  choke  with  chagrin.  He  perceived 
at  once  that  the  Schnorrer  had  merely  had  the  clothes  con- 
veyed direct  to  the  house  of  a  wealthy  private  dealer. 

"  Take  care  !  "  exclaimed  the  Schnorrer  anxiously,  "  you 
are  spluttering  sauce  all  over  that  waistcoat,  without  any 
consideration  for  me." 

Joseph  suppressed  himself  with  an  effort.  Open  discus- 
sion would  betray  matters  to  his  wife,  and  he  was  now  too 
deeply  enmeshed  in  falsehoods  by  default.  But  he  managed 
to  whisper  angrily,  "  Why  did  you  tell  Wilkinson  I  ordered 
him  to  carry  your  box?" 

"  To  save  your  credit  in  his  eyes.  How  was  he  to  know 
we  had  quarrelled  ?  He  would  have  thought  you  discour- 
teous to  your  guest." 

"That's  all  very  fine.     But  why  did  you  sell  my  clothes?  " 

"  You  did  not  expect  me  to  wear  them  ?  No,  I  know  my 
station,  thank  God." 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  49 

"What  is  that  you  are  saying,  Mr.  da  Costa?"  asked  the 
hostess. 

"  Oh,  we  are  talking  of  Dan  Mendoza,"  replied  Grobstock 
glibly  ;  "  wondering  if  he'll  beat  Dick  Humphreys  at  Don- 
caster." 

"  Oh,  Joseph,  didn't  you  have  enough  of  Dan  Mendoza 
at  supper  last  night?"  protested  his  wife. 

"  It  is  not  a  subject  /  ever  talk  about,"  said  the  Schnor- 
rer,  fixing  his  host  with  a  reproachful  glance. 

Grobstock  desperately  touched  his  foot  under  the  table, 
knowing  he  was  selling  his  soul  to  the  King  of  Schnorrers, 
but  too  flaccid  to  face  the  moment. 

"  No,  da  Costa  doesn't  usually,"  he  admitted.  "  Only 
Dan  Mendoza  being  a  Portuguese  I  happened  to  ask  if  he 
was  ever  seen  in  the  Synagogue." 

"  If  I  had  my  way,"  growled  da  Costa,  "  he  should  be 
excommunicated  —  a  bruiser,  a  defacer  of  God's  image  !  " 

"  By  gad,  no  !  "  cried  Grobstock,  stirred  up.  "  If  you 
had  seen  him  lick  the  Badger  in  thirty-five  minutes  on  a 
twenty-four  foot  stage  — 

"  Joseph  !  Joseph  !  Remember  it  is  the  Sabbath  !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Grobstock. 

"  I  would  willingly  exchange  our  Dan  Mendoza  for  your 
David  Levi,"  said  da  Costa  severely. 

David  Levi  was  the  literary  ornament  of  the  Ghetto ;  a 
shoe-maker  and  hat-dresser  who  cultivated  Hebrew  philology 
and  the  Muses,  and  broke  a  lance  in  defence  of  his  creed 
with  Dr.  Priestley,  the  discoverer  of  Oxygen,  and  Tom 
Paine,  the  discoverer  of  Reason. 

"  Pshaw  !  David  Levi !  The  mad  hatter  !  "  cried  Grob- 
stock. "  He  makes  nothing  at  all  out  of  his  books." 

"You  should  subscribe  for  more  copies,"  retorted  Ma- 
nasseh. 


50  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  I  would  if  you  wrote  them,"  rejoined  Grobstock,  with  a 
grimace. 

"  I  got  six  copies  of  his  Lingua  Sacra"  Manasseh  de- 
clared with  dignity,  "  and  a  dozen  of  his  translation  of  the 
Pentateuch." 

"  You  can  afford  it ! "  snarled  Grobstock,  with  grim 
humour.  "  I  have  to  earn  my  money." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  Mr.  da  Costa,  all  the  same,"  inter- 
posed the  hostess.  "  How  many  men,  born  to  great  posses- 
sions, remain  quite  indifferent  to  learning  !  " 

"  True,  most  true,"  said  da  Costa.  "  Men-of-the-Earth, 
most  of  them." 

After  supper  he  trolled  the  Hebrew  grace  hilariously, 
assisted  by  Yankele",  and  ere  he  left  he  said  to  the  hostess, 
"  May  the  Lord  bless  you  with  children  !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered,  much  moved. 

"  You  see  I  should  be  so  pleased  to  marry  your  daughter 
if  you  had  one." 

"You  are  very  complimentary,"  she  murmured,  but  her 
husband's  exclamation  drowned  hers,  "  You  marry  my 
daughter  !  " 

"  Who  else  moves  among  better  circles  —  would  be  more 
easily  able  to  find  her  a  suitable  match  ?  " 

"  Oh,  in  that  sense,"  said  Grobstock,  mollified  in  one 
direction,  irritated  in  another. 

"In  what  other  sense?  You  do  not  think  I,  a  Sephardi, 
would  marry  her  myself !  " 

"  My  daughter  does  not  need  your  assistance,"  replied 
Grobstock  shortly. 

"  Not  yet,"  admitted  Manasseh,  rising  to  go ;  "  but  when 
the  time  comes,  where  will  you  find  a  better  marriage 
broker?  I  have  had  a  finger  in  the  marriage  of  greater 
men's  daughters.  You  see,  when  I  recommend  a  maiden 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  51 

or  a  young  man  it  is  from  no  surface  knowledge.  I  have 
seen  them  in  the  intimacy  of  their  homes  —  above  all  I  am 
able  to  say  whether  they  are  of  a  good,  charitable  disposition. 
Good  Sabbath  ! " 

"  Good  Sabbath,"  murmured  the  host  and  hostess  in  fare- 
well. Mrs.  Grobstock  thought  he  need  not  be  above  shak- 
ing hands,  for  all  his  grand  acquaintances. 

"This  way,  Yankele","  said  Manasseh,  showing  him  to 
the  door.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  were  able  to  come  —  you 
must  come  again." 


CHAPTER   III. 

SHOWING   HOW   HIS   MAJESTY   WENT  TO   THE  THEATRE  AND 
WAS   WOOED. 

As  Manasseh  the  Great,  first  beggar  in  Europe,  sauntered 
across  Goodman's  Fields,  attended  by  his  Polish  parasite, 
both  serenely  digesting  the  supper  provided  by  the  Treas- 
urer of  the  Great  Synagogue,  Joseph  Grobstock,  a  mar- 
tial music  clove  suddenly  the  quiet  evening  air,  and  set 
the  Schnorrers1  pulses  bounding.  From  the  Tenterground 
emerged  a  squad  of  recruits,  picturesque  in  white  fatigue 
dress,  against  which  the  mounted  officers  showed  gallant  in 
blue  surtouts  and  scarlet-striped  trousers. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  da  Costa,  with  swelling  breast.  "  There  go 
my  soldiers  !  " 

"  Your  soldiers  !  "  ejaculated  Yankete  in  astonishment. 

«  Yes  —  do  you  not  see  they  are  returning  to  the  India 
House  in  Leadenhall  Street?" 

"And  vat  of  dat?  "  said  Yankele",  shrugging  his  shoulders 
and  spreading  out  his  palms. 

"  What  of  that?    Surely  you  have  not  forgotten  that  the 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


clodpate  at  whose  house  I  have  just  entertained  you  is  a 
Director  of  the  East  India  Company,  whose  soldiers  these 
are?  " 


"'THERE  GO  MY  SOLDIERS.'" 

"Oh,"  said  Yankele, 
his  mystified  face  relax- 
ing in  a  smile.  The 
smile  fled  before  the 
stern  look  in  the  .Span- 
iard's eyes ;  he  hastened 
to  conceal  his  amusement.  Yankele  was  by  nature  a  droll, 
and  it  cost  him  a  good  deal  to  take  his  patron  as  seriously  as 
that  potentate  took  himself.  Perhaps  if  Manasseh  Bueno 
Barzillai  Azevedo  da  Costa  had  had  more  humour  he  would 
have  had  less  momentum.  Your  man  of  action  is  blind  in 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  63 

one  eye.  Caesar  would  not  have  come  and  conquered  if  he 
had  really  seen. 

Wounded  by  that  temporary  twinkle  in  his  client's  eye, 
the  patron  moved  on  silently,  in  step  with  the  military  air. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  night,"  observed  Yankeld  in  contrition. 
The  words  had  hardly  passed  his  lips  before  he  became  con- 
scious that  he  had  spoken  the  truth.  The  moon  was  peep- 
ing from  behind  a  white  cloud,  and  the  air  was  soft,  and 
broken  shadows  of  foliage  lay  across  the  path,  and  the 
music  was  a  song  of  love  and  bravery.  Somehow,  Yankel£ 
began  to  think  of  da  Costa's  lovely  daughter.  Her  face 
floated  in  the  moonlight. 

Manasseh  shrugged  his  shoulders,  unappeased. 

"  When  one  has  supped  well,  it  is  always  a  beautiful 
night,"  he  said  testily.  It  was  as  if  the  cloud  had  overspread 
the  moon,  and  a  thick  veil  had  fallen  over  the  face  of  da 
Costa's  lovely  daughter.  But  Yankel£  recovered  himself 
quickly. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  said,  "  you  have  indeed  made  it  a  beau- 
diful  night  for  me." 

The  King  of  Schnorrers  waved  his  staff  deprecatingly. 

"  It  is  alvays  a  beaudiful  night  ven  I  am  mid  you,"  added 
Yankeld,  undaunted. 

"It  is  strange,"  replied  Manasseh  musingly,  "that  I 
should  have  admitted  to  my  hearth  and  Grobstock's  table 
one  who  is,  after  all,  but  a  half-brother  in  Israel." 

"  But  Grobstock  is  also  a  Tedesco,"  protested  Yankele. 

"  That  is  also  what  I  wonder  at,"  rejoined  da  Costa.  "  I 
cannot  make  out  how  I  have  come  to  be  so  familiar  with 
him." 

"  You  see  !  "  ventured  the  Tedesco  timidly.  "  P'raps 
ven  Grobstock  had  really  had  a  girl  you  might  even  have 
come  to  marry  her." 


54  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  Guard  your  tongue  !  A  Sephardi  cannot  marry  a  Te- 
desco  !  It  would  be  a  degradation." 

"Yes — but  de  oder  vay  round.  A  Tedesco  can  marry  a 
Sephardi,  not  so  ?  Dat  is  a  rise.  If  Grobstock's  daughter 
had  married  you,  she  vould  have  married  above  her,"  he 
ended,  with  an  ingenuous  air. 

"True,"  admitted  Manasseh.  "But  then,  as  Grobstock's 
daughter  does  not  exist,  and  my  wife  does —  ! " 

"Ah,  but  if  you  vas  me,"  said  Yankele",  "vould  you  rader 
marry  a  Tedesco  or  a  Sephardi  ?  " 

"A  Sephardi,  of  course.     But — " 

"I  vill  be  guided  by  you,"  interrupted  the  Pole  hastily. 
"You  be  de  visest  man  I  have  ever  known." 

"But  —  "  Manasseh  repeated. 

"  Do  not  deny  it.  You  be  !  Instantly  vill  I  seek  out  a 
Sephardi  maiden  and  ved  her.  P'raps  you  crown  your 
counsel  by  choosing  von  for  me.  Vat?" 

Manasseh  was  visibly  mollified. 

"How  do  I  know  your  taste?"  he  asked  hesitatingly. 

"Oh,  any  Spanish  girl  would  be  a  prize,"  replied  Yankele". 
"  Even  ven  she  had  a  face  like  a  Passover  cake.  But  still  I 
prefer  a  Pentecost  blossom." 

"What  kind  of  beauty  do  you  like  best?" 

"Your  daughter's  style,"  plumply  answered  the  Pole. 

"  But  there  are  not  many  like  that,"  said  da  Costa  unsus- 
piciously. 

"No  —  she  is  like  de  Rose  of  Sharon.  But  den  dere  are 
not  many  handsome  faders." 

Manasseh  bethought  himself.  "  There  is  Gabriel,  the 
corpse-watcher's  daughter.  People  consider  his  figure  and 
deportment  good." 

"  Pooh  !  Offal !  She's  ugly  enough  to  keep  de  Messiah 
from  coming.  Vy,  she's  like  cut  out  of  de  fader's  face  ! 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  55 

Besides,  consider  his  occupation  !  You  vould  not  advise 
dat  I  marry  into  such  a  low  family  !  Be  you  not  my  bene- 
factor?" 

"Well,  but  I  cannot  think  of  any  good-looking  girl  that 
would  be  suitable." 

Yankel6  looked  at  him  with  a  roguish,  insinuating  smile. 
"  Say  not  dat !  Have  you  not  told  Grobstock  you  be  de 
first  of  marriage-brokers  ?" 

But  Manasseh  shook  his  head. 

"No,  you  be  quite*  right,"  said  Yankele'  humbly;  "I  could 
not  get  a  really  beaudiful  girl  unless  I  married  your  Deborah 
herself." 

"No,  I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Manasseh  sympathetically. 

Yankete  took  the  plunge. 

"Ah,  vy  can  I  not  hope  to  call  you  fader-in-law ? " 

Manasseh's  face  was  contorted  by  a  spasm  of  astonish- 
ment and  indignation.  He  came  to  a  standstill. 

"Dat  must  be  a  fine  piece,"  said  Yankele'  quickly,  indi- 
cating a  flamboyant  picture  of  a  fearsome  phantom  hovering 
over  a  sombre  moat.  9 

They  had  arrived  at  Leman  Street,  and  had  stopped  be- 
fore Goodman's  Fields  Theatre.  Manasseh's  brow  cleared. 

"It  is  The  Castle  Spectre,"  he  said  graciously.  "Would 
you  like  to  see  it?" 

"But  it  is  half  over — " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  da  Costa,  scanning  the  play  bill.  "There 
was  a  farce  by  O'Keefe  to  start  with.  The  night  is  yet 
young.  The  drama  will  be  just  beginning." 

"But  it  is  de  Sabbath — ve  must  not  pay." 

Manasseh's  brow  clouded  again  in  wrathful  righteous  sur- 
prise. "Did  you  think  I  was  going  to  pay?"  he  gasped. 

"N-n-no,"  stammered  the  Pole,  abashed.  "But  you 
haven't  got  no  orders?" 


56  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  Orders  ?     Me  ?    Will  you  do  me  the  pleasure  of  accept- 
ing a  seat  in  my  box?" 
"In  your  box?" 


"  '  DAT    MUST   BE   A    FINE   PIECE.'  " 

"Yes,  there  is  plenty  of  room.  Come  this  way,"  said  Ma- 
nasseh.  "  I  haven't  been  to  the  play  myself  for  over  a  year. 
I  am  too  busy  always.  It  will  be  an  agreeable  change." 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  57 

Yankele"  hung  back,  bewildered. 

"Through  this  door,"  said  Manasseh  encouragingly. 
"Come  —  you  shall  lead  the  way." 

"  But  dey  vill  not  admit  me  ! " 

"  Will  not  admit  you  !  When  I  give  you  a  seat  in  my 
box  !  Are  you  mad  ?  Now  you  shall  just  go  in  without 
me  —  I  insist  upon  it.  I  will  show -you  Manasseh  Bueno 
Barzillai  Azevedo  da  Costa  is  a  man  whose  word  is  the  Law 
of  Moses  ;  true  as  the  Talmud.  Walk  straight  through  the 
portico,  and,  if  the  attendant  endeavours  to  stop  you,  simply 
tell  him  Mr.  da  Costa  has  given  you  a  seat  in  his  box." 

Not  daring  to  exhibit  scepticism — nay,  almost  confident 
in  the  powers  of  his  extraordinary  protector,  Yankele  put 
his  foot  on  the  threshold  of  the  lobby. 

"But  you  be  coming,  too?"  he  said,  turning  back. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  don't  intend  to  miss  the  performance.  Have 
no  fear." 

Yankele"  walked  boldly  ahead,  and  brushed  by  the  door- 
keeper of  the  little  theatre  without  appearing  conscious  of 
him  ;  indeed,  the  official  was  almost  impressed  into  letting 
the  Schnorrer  pass  unquestioned  as  one  who  had  gone  out 
between  the  acts.  But  the  visitor  was  too  dingy  for  any- 
thing but  the  stage-door  —  he  had  the  air  of  those  non- 
descript beings  who  hang  mysteriously  about  the  hinder 
recesses  of  playhouses.  Recovering  himself  just  in  time, 
the  functionary  (a  meek  little  Cockney)  hailed  the  intruder 
with  a  backward -drawing  "  Hi !  " 

"  Vat  you  vant  ?  "  said  Yankele",  turning  his  head. 

"Vhere's  your  ticket?" 

"  Don't  vant  no  ticket." 

"  Don't  you  ?  I  does,"  rejoined  the  little  man,  who  was 
a  humorist. 

"  Mr.  da  Costa  has  given  me  a  seat  in  his  box." 


58  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  Oh,  indeed  !     You'd  swear  to  that  in  the  box?  " 

"  By  my  head.     He  gave  it  me." 

"A  seat  in  his  box?" 

"Yes." 

"Mr.  da  Costa,  you  vos  a-sayin',  I  think?" 

"  The  same." 

"Ah  !  this  vay,  then  !" 

And  the  humorist  pointed  to  the  street. 

Yankele"  did  not  budge. 

"  This  vay,  my  lud  !  "  cried  the  little  humorist  peremptorily. 

"  I  tells  you  I'm  going  into  Mr.  da  Costa's  box  !  " 

"And  I  tells  you  you're  a-goin'  into  the  gutter."  And 
the  official  seized  him  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  began 
pushing  him  forwards  with  his  knee. 

"  Now  then  !  what's  this?  " 

A  stern,  angry  voice  broke  like  a  thunderclap  upon  the 
humorist's  ears.  He  released  his  hold  of  the  Schnorrer 
and  looked  up,  to  behold  a  strange,  shabby,  stalwart  figure 
towering  over  him  in  censorious  majesty. 

"Why  are  you  hustling  this  poor  man?"  demanded 
Manasseh. 

"He  wanted  to  sneak  in,"  the  little  Cockney  replied, 
half  apologetically,  half  resentfully.  "  Expect  'e  'ails  from 
Saffron  '111,  and  'as  'is  eye  on  the  vipes.  Told  me  some 
gammon — a  cock-and-bull  story  about  having  a  seat  in  a 
box." 

"In  Mr.  da  Costa's  box,  I  suppose?"  said  Manasseh, 
ominously  calm,  with  a  menacing  glitter  in  his  eye. 

"Ye-es,"  said  the  humorist,  astonished  and  vaguely 
alarmed.  Then  the  storm  burst. 

"You  impertinent  scoundrel  !  You  jackanapes  !  You 
low,  beggarly  rapscallion  !  And  so  you  refused  to  show  my 
guest  into  my  box  !  " 


NOW  THEN!    WHAT'S  THIS?'" 


60  THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"Are  you  Mr.  da  Costa?"  faltered  the  humorist. 

"  Yes,  /  am  Mr.  da  Costa,  but  you  won't  much  longer  be 
doorkeeper,  if  this  is  the  way  you  treat  people  who  come  to 
see  your  pieces.  Because,  forsooth,  the  man  looks  poor, 
you  think  you  can  bully  him  safely  —  forgive  me,  Yankele, 
I  am  so  sorry  I  did  not  manage  to  come  here  before  you, 
and  spare  you  this  insulting  treatment !  And  as  for  you, 
my  fine  fellow,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  make  a  great  mistake 
in  judging  from  appearances.  There  are  some  good  friends 
of  mine  who  could  buy  up  your  theatre  and  you  and  your 
miserable  little  soul  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  to  look  at 
them  you  would  think  they  were  cadgers.  One  of  these 
days  —  hark  you  !  —  you  will  kick  out  a  person  of  quality, 
and  be  kicked  out  yourself." 

"I  —  I'm  very  sorry,  sir." 

"  Don't  say  that  to  me.  It  is  my  guest  you  owe  an  apol- 
ogy to.  Yes  —  and,  by  Heaven  !  you  shall  pay  it,  though 
he  is  no  plutocrat,  but  only  what  he  appears.  Surely,  be- 
cause I  wish  to  give  a  treat  to  a  poor  man  who  has,  perhaps, 
never  been  to  the  play  in  his  life,  I  am  not  bound  to  send 
him  to  the  gallery  —  I  can  give  him  a  corner  in  my  box  il 
I  choose.  There  is  no  rule  against  that,  I  presume?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  can't  say  as  there  is,"  said  the  humorist 
humbly.  "  But  you  will  allow,  sir,  it's  rayther  unusual." 

"  Unusual !  Of  course,  it's  unusual.  Kindness  and  con- 
sideration for  the  poor  are  always  unusual.  The  poor  are 
trodden  upon  at  every  opportunity,  treated  like  dogs,  not 
men.  If  I  had  invited  a  drunken  fop,  you'd  have  met  him 
hat  in  hand  (no,  no,  you  needn't  take  it  off  to  me  now ;  it's 
too  late).  But  a  sober,  poor  man  —  by  gad  !  I  shall  report 
your  incivility  to  the  management,  and  you'll  be  lucky  if  I 
don't  thrash  you  with  this  stick  into  the  bargain." 

"  But  'ow  vos  I  to  know,  sir?  " 


THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS.  61 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  I  tell  you.  If  you  have  anything  to 
urge  in  extenuation  of  your  disgraceful  behaviour,  address 
your  remarks  to  my  guest." 

"You'll  overlook  it  this  time,  sir,"  said  the  little  humorist, 
turning  to  Yankele. 

"Next  time,  p'raps,  you  believe  me  ven  I  say  I  have  a 
seat  in  Mr.  da  Costa's  box,"  replied  Yankel£,  in  gentle 
reproach. 

"  Well,  if  you're  satisfied,  Yanked,"  said  Manasseh,  with  a 
touch  of  scorn,  "I  have  no  more  to  say.  Go  along,  my 
man,  show  us  to  our  box." 

The  official  bowed  and  led  them  into  the  corridor.  Sud- 
denly he  turned  back. 

"What  box  is  it,  please?"  he  said  timidly. 

"  Blockhead  ! "  cried  Manasseh.  "  Which  box  should  it 
be?  The  empty  one,  of  course." 

"  But,  sir,  there  are  two  boxes  empty,"  urged  the  poor 
humorist  deprecatingly,  "  the  stage-box  and  the  one  by  the 
gallery." 

"  Dolt !  Do  I  look  the  sort  of  person  who  is  content  with 
a  box  on  the  ceiling?  Go  back  to  your  post,  sir  —  I'll  find 
the  box  myself — Heaven  send  you  wisdom  —  go  back, 
some  one  might  sneak  in  while  you  are  away,  and  it  would 
just  serve  you  right."  , 

The  little  man  slunk  back  half  dazed,  glad  to  escape  from 
this  overwhelming  personality,  and  in  a  few  seconds  Manasseh 
stalked  into  the  empty  box,  followed  by  Yankele^  whose  mouth 
was  a  grin  and  whose  eye  a  twinkle.  As  the  Spaniard  took 
his  seat  there  was  a  slight  outburst  of  clapping  and  stamping 
from  a  house  impatient  for  the  end  of  the  entr'acte. 

Manasseh  craned  his  head  over  the  box  to  see  the  house, 
which  in  turn  craned  to  see  him,  glad  of  any  diversion,  and 
some  people,  imagining  the  applause  had  reference  to  the 


62 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


new-comer,  whose  head  appeared  to  be  that  of  a  foreigner 
of  distinction,  joined  in  it.  The  contagion  spread,  and  in  a 
minute  Manasseh  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  and  the 

unmistakable  recipient  of 
an  "  ovation."  He  bowed 
twice  or  thrice  in  un- 
ruffled dignity. 

There  were  some  who 
recognised  him,  but  they 
joined  in  the  reception 
with  wondering  amuse- 
ment. Not  a  few,  in- 


deed, of  the  audience  were  Jews,  for  Goodman's  Fields 
was  the  Ghetto  Theatre,  and  the  Sabbath  was  not  a  suffi- 
cient deterrent  to  a  lax  generation.  The  audiences  — 
mainly  German  and  Poles  —  came  to  the  little  unfashionable 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  63 

playhouse  as  one  happy  family.  Distinctions  of  rank  were 
trivial,  and  gallery  held  converse  with  circle,  and  pit  col- 
logued with  box.  Supper  parties  were  held  on  the  benches. 

In  a  box  that  gave  on  the  pit  a  portly  Jewess  sat  stiffly, 
arrayed  in  the  very  pink  of  fashion,  in  a  spangled  robe  of 
India  muslin,  with  a  diamond  necklace  and  crescent,  her 
head  crowned  by  terraces  of  curls  and  flowers. 

"Betsy  !"  called  up  a  jovial  feminine  voice  from  the  pit, 
when  the  applause  had  subsided. 

"  Betsy  "  did  not  move,  but  her  cheeks  grew  hot  and  red. 
She  had  got  on  in  the  world,  and  did  not  care  to  recognise 
her  old  crony. 

"Betsy!"  iterated  the  well-meaning  woman.  "By  your 
life  and  mine,  you  must  taste  a  piece  of  my  fried  fish."  And 
she  held  up  a  slice  of  cold  plaice,  beautifully  browned. 

Betsy  drew  back,  striving  unsuccessfully  to  look  uncon- 
scious. To  her  relief  the  curtain  rose,  and  The  Castle 
Spectre  walked.  Yankel£,  who  had  scarcely  seen  anything 
but  private  theatricals,  representing  the  discomfiture  of  the 
wicked  Haman  and  the  triumph  of  Queen  Esther  (a  role  he 
had  once  played  himself,  in  his  mother's  old  clothes),  was 
delighted  with  the  thrills  and  terrors  of  the  ghostly  melo- 
drama. It  was  not  till  the  conclusion  of  the  second  act 
that  the  emotion  the  beautiful  but  injured  heroine  cost  him 
welled  over  again  into  matrimonial  speech. 

"  Ve  vind  up  de  night  glorious,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it.  It  is  certainly  an  enjoyable  per 
formance,"  Manasseh  answered  with  stately  satisfaction. 

"Your  daughter,  Deborah,"  Yankele"  ventured  timidly, 
" do  she  ever  go  to  de  play?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  take  my  womankind  about.  Their  duty 
lies  at  home.  As  it  is  written,  I  call  my  wife  not '  wife  '  but 
'  home.' " 


64  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  But  dink  how  dey  vould  enjoy  deirselves  !  " 

"We  are  not  sent  here  to  enjoy  ourselves." 

"True  —  most  true,"  said  Yankele,  pulling  a  smug  face. 
"  Ve  be  sent  here  to  obey  de  Law  of  Moses.  But  do  not 
remind  me  I  be  a  sinner  in  Israel." 

"  How  so?" 

"  I  am  twenty-five — yet  I  have  no  vife." 

"I  daresay  you  had  plenty  in  Poland." 

"By  my  soul,  not.  Only  von,  and  her  I  gave  gett 
(divorce)  for  barrenness.  You  can  write  to  de  Rabbi  of  my 
town." 

"  Why  should  I  write  ?     It's  not  my  affair." 

"  But  I  vant  it  to  be  your  affair." 

Manasseh  glared.  "Do  you  begin  that  again?"  he  mur- 
mured. 

"  It  is  not  so  much  dat  I  desire  your  daughter  for  a  vife 
as  you  for  a  fader-in-law." 

"  It  cannot  be  ! "  said  Manasseh  more  gently. 

"  Oh  dat  I  had  been  born  a  Sephardi !  "  said  Yankele  with 
a  hopeless  groan. 

"  It  is  too  late  now,"  said  da  Costa  soothingly. 

"Dey  say  it's  never  too  late  to  mend,"  moaned  the  Pole. 
"  Is  dere  no  vay  for  me  to  be  converted  to  Spanish  Judaism  ? 
I  could  easily  pronounce  Hebrew  in  your  superior  vay." 

"  Our  Judaism  differs  in  no  essential  respect  from  yours 
—  it  is  a  question  of  blood.  You  cannot  change  your  blood. 
As  it  is  said,  'And  the  blood  is  the  life.'  " 

"  I  know,  I  know  dat  I  aspire  too  high.  Oh,  vy  did  you 
become  my  friend,  vy  did  you  make  me  believe  you  cared 
for  me  —  so  dat  I  tink  of  you  day  and  night  —  and  now,  ven 
I  ask  you  to  be  my  fader-in-law,  you  say  it  cannot  be.  It 
is  like  a  knife  in  de  heart  !  Tink  how  proud  and  happy  I 
should  be  to  call  you  my  fader-in-law.  All  my  life  vould  be 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  65 

devoted  to  you  —  my  von  thought  to  be  vordy  of  such  a 
man." 

"You  are  not  the  first  I  have  been  compelled  to  refuse," 
said  Manasseh,  with  emotion. 

"Vat  helps  me  dat  dere  be  other  Schlemihls  (unlucky 
persons)  ?  "  quoted  Yanked,  with  a  sob.  "  How  can  I  live 
midout  you  for  a  fader-in-law  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you  —  more  sorry  than  I  have  ever 
been." 

"  Den  you  do  care  for  me  !  I  vill  not  give  up  hope.  I 
vill  not  take  no  for  no  answer.  Vat  is  dis  blood  dat  it 
should  divide  Jew  from  Jew,  dat  it  should  prevent  me 
becoming  de  son-in-law  of  de  only  man  I  have  ever  loved  ? 
Say  not  so.  Let  me  ask  you  again  —  in  a  month  or  a  year 

—  even  twelve  months  vould  I  vait,  ven  you  vould  only 
promise  not  to  pledge  yourself  to  anoder  man." 

"  But  if  I  became  your  father-in-law  —  mind,  I  only  say  if 

—  not  only  would  I  not  keep  you,  but  you  would  have  to 
keep  my  Deborah." 

"And  supposing?" 

"  But  you  are  not  able  to  keep  a  wife  ! " 

"Not  able?  Who  told  you  dat?"  cried  Yankele  indig- 
nantly. 

"  You  yourself !  Why,  when  I  first  befriended  you,  you 
told  me  you  were  blood- poor." 

"  Dat  I  told  you  as  a  Schnorrer.  But  now  I  speak  to 
you  as  a  suitor." 

"True,"  admitted  Manasseh,  instantly  appreciating  the 
distinction. 

"  And  as  a  suitor  I  tell  you  I  can  schnorr  enough  to  keep 
two  vives." 

"  But  do  you  tell  this  to  da  Costa  the  father  or  da  Costa 
the  marriage-broker?" 


66  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  Hush  ! "  from  all  parts  of  the  house  as  the  curtail 
went  up  and  the  house  settled  down.  But  Yankele  was  no 
longer  in  rapport  with  the  play ;  the  spectre  had  ceased  to 
thrill  and  the  heroine  to  touch.  His  mind  was  busy  with 
feverish  calculations  of  income,  scraping  together  every 
penny  he  could  raise  by  hook  or  crook.  He  even  drew 
out  a  crumpled  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil,  but  thrust 
them  back  into  his  pocket  when  he  saw  Manasseh's  eye. 

"  I  forgot,"  he  murmured  apologetically.  "  Being  at  de 
play  made  me  forget  it  was  de  Sabbath."  And  he  pursued 
his  calculations  mentally ;  this  being  naturally  less  work. 

When  the  play  was  over  the  two  beggars  walked  out  into 
the  cool  night  air. 

"I  find,"  Yanked  began  eagerly  in  the  vestibule,  "I 
make  at  least  von  hundred  and  fifty  pounds"  —  he  paused 
to  acknowledge  the  farewell  salutation  of  the  little  door- 
keeper at  his  elbow — "a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Manasseh,  in  respectful  astonishment. 

"  Yes  !  I  have  reckoned  it  all  up.  Ten  are  de  sources 
of  charity  — " 

"As  it  is  written,"  interrupted  Manasseh  with  unction, 
" '  With  ten  sayings  was  the  world  created ;  there  were  ten 
generations  from  Noah  to  Abraham ;  with  ten  trials  our 
father  Abraham  was  tried  ;  ten  miracles  were  wrought  for 
our  fathers  in  Egypt  and  ten  at  the  Red  Sea ;  and  ten 
things  were  created  on  the  eve  of  the  Sabbath  in  the  twi- 
light ! '  And  now  it  shall  be  added,  '  Ten  good  deeds  the 
poor  man  affords  the  rich  man.'  Proceed,  YankeleV' 

"First  comes  my  allowance  from  de  Synagogue  —  eight 
pounds.  Vonce  a  veek  I  call  and  receive  half-a-crown." 

"  Is  that  all?     Our  Synagogue  allows  three-and-six." 

"  Ah  ! "  sighed  the  Pole  wistfully.  "  Did  I  not  say  yoir 
be  a  superior  race? " 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  67 

"  But  that  only  makes  six  pound  ten  !  " 

"  I  know  —  de  oder  tirty  shillings  I  allow  for  Passover 
cakes  and  groceries.  Den  for  Synagogue-knocking  I  get 
ten  guin — " 

"  Stop  !  stop  ! "  cried  Manasseh,  with  a  sudden  scruple. 
"  Ought  I  to  listen  to  financial  details  on  the  Sabbath  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  ven  dey  be  connected  vid  my  marriage  — 
vich  is  a  Commandment.  It  is  de  Law  ve  really  discuss." 

"You  are  right.  Go  on,  then.  But  remember,  even  if 
you  can  prove  you  can  schnorr  enough  to  keep  a  wife,  I  do 
not  bind  myself  to  consent." 

"You  be  already  a  fader  to  me  —  vy  vill  you  not  be  a 
fader-in-law?  Anyhow,  you  vill  find  me  a  fader-in-law," 
he  added  hastily,  seeing  the  blackness  gathering  again  on 
da  Costa's  brow. 

"  Nay,  nay,  we  must  not  talk  of  business  on  the  Sabbath," 
said  Manasseh  evasively.  "  Proceed  with  your  statement  of 
income." 

"Ten  guineas  for  Synagogue-knocking.  I  have  tventy 
clients  who — " 

"  Stop  a  minute  !     I  cannot  pass  that  item." 

"  Vy  not?     It  is  true." 

"  Maybe  !     But  Synagogue-knocking  is  distinctly  work  !  " 

"York?" 

"  Well,  if  going  round  early  in  the  morning  to  knock  at 
the  doors  of  twenty  pious  persons,  and  rouse  them  for 
morning  service,  isn't  work,  then  the  Christian  bell-ringer 
is  a  beggar.  No,  no  !  Profits  from  this  source  I  cannot 
regard  as  legitimate." 

"  But  most  Schnorrers  be  Synagogue-knockers  !  " 

"  Most  Schnorrers  are  Congregation-men  or  Psalms-men," 
retorted  the  Spaniard  witheringly.  "  But  I  call  it  debasing. 
What !  To  assist  at  the  services  for  a  fee  !  To  worship 


68  THE  KING  OF  SCHNORRERS. 

one's  Maker  for  hire  !  Under  such  conditions  to  pray  is  to 
work."  His  breast  swelled  with  majesty  and  scorn. 

"  I  cannot  call  it  vork,"  protested  the  Schnorrer.  "  Vy 
at  dat  rate  you  vould  make  out  dat  de  minister  vorks  ?  or  de 
preacher?  Vy,  I  reckon  fourteen  pounds  a  year  to  my 
services  as  Congregation-man." 

"  Fourteen  pounds  !     As  much  as  that?  " 

"  Yes,  you  see  dere's  my  private  customers  as  veil  as  de 
Synagogue.  Ven  dere  is  mourning  in  a  house  dey  cannot 
alvays  get  together  ten  friends  for  de  services,  so  I  make 
von.  How  can  you  call  that  vork  ?  It  is  friendship.  And 
the  more  dey  pay  me  de  more  friendship  I  feel,"  asserted 
Yankele  with  a  twinkle.  "  Den  de  Synagogue  allows  me  a 
little  extra  for  announcing  de  dead." 

In  those  primitive  times,  when  a  Jewish  newspaper  was 
undreamt  of,  the  day's  obituary  was  published  by  a  peripa- 
tetic Schnorrer^  who  went  about  the  Ghetto  rattling  a  pyx 
—  a  copper  money-box  with  a  handle  and  a  lid  closed  by  a 
padlock.  On  hearing  this  death-rattle,  anyone  who  felt 
curious  would  ask  the  Schnorrer  : 

"  Who's  dead  to-day? " 

"So-and-so  ben  So-and-so  —  funeral  on  such  a  day  — 
mourning  service  at  such  an  hour,"  the  Schnorrer  would 
reply,  and  the  enquirer  would  piously  put  something  into 
the  "byx,"  as  it  was  called.  The  collection  was  handed 
over  to  the  Holy  Society  —  in  other  words,  the  Burial 
Society. 

"  P'raps  you  call  that  vork?  "  concluded  Yankete,  in  timid 
challenge. 

"  Of  course  I  do.     What  do  you  call  it?  " 

"  Valking  exercise.  It  keeps  me  healty.  Vonce  von  of 
my  customers  (from  whom  I  schnorred  half-a-crown  a  veek) 
said  he  was  tired  of  my  coming  and  getting  it  every  Friday. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  69 

He  vanted  to  compound  mid  me  for  six  pound  a  year,  but 
I  vouldn't." 

"But  it  was  a  very  fair  offer.  He  only  deducted  ten 
shillings  for  the  interest  on  his  money." 

"  Dat  I  didn't  mind.  But  I  vanted  a  pound  more  for  his 
depriving  me  of  my  valking  exercise,  and  dat  he  vouldn't 
pay,  so  he  still  goes  on  giving  me  de  half-crown  a  veek. 
Some  of  dese  charitable  persons  are  terribly  mean.  But  vat 
I  vant  to  say  is  dat  I  carry  de  byx  mostly  in  the  streets 
vere  my  customers  lay,  and  it  gives  me  more  standing  as  a 
Schnorrer" 

"  No,  no,  that  is  a  delusion.  What !  Are  you  weak- 
minded  enough  to  believe  that?  All  the  philanthropists  say 
so,  of  course,  but  surely  you  know  that  schnorring  and  work 
should  never  be  mixed.  A  man  cannot  do  two  things 
properly.  He  must  choose  his  profession,  and  stick  to  it. 
A  friend  of  mine  once  succumbed  to  the  advice  of  the  phi- 
lanthropists instead  of  asking  mine.  He  had  one  of  the  best 
provincial  rounds  in  the  kingdom,  but  in  every  town  he 
weakly  listened  to  the  lectures  of  the  president  of  the  con- 
gregation inculcating  work,  and  at  last  he  actually  invested 
the  savings  of  years  in  jewellery,  and  went  round  trying  to 
peddle  it.  The  presidents  all  bought  something  to  encour- 
age him  (though  they  beat  down  the  price  so  that  there 
was  no  profit  in  it),  and  they  all  expressed  their  pleasure 
at  his  working  for  his  living,  and  showing  a  manly  indepen- 
dence. '  But  I  schnorr  also,'  he  reminded  them,  holding 
out  his  hand  when  they  had  finished.  It  was  in  vain.  No 
one  gave  him  a  farthing.  He  had  blundered  beyond  re- 
demption. At  one  blow  he  had  destroyed  one  of  the  most 
profitable  connections  a  Schnorrer  ever  had,  and  without 
even  getting  anything  for  the  goodwill.  So  if  you  will  be 
guided  by  me,  Yankele",  you  will  do  nothing  to  assist  the 


70  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

philanthropists  to  keep  you.  It  destroys  their  satisfaction. 
A  Schnorrer  cannot  be  too  careful.  And  once  you  begin 
to  work,  where  are  you  to  draw  the  line  ?  " 

"  But  you  be  a  marriage- broker  yourself,"  said  Yankel£ 
imprudently. 

"  That !  "  thundered  Manasseh  angrily,  "  That  is  not  work  ! 
That  is  pleasure  !  " 

"  Vy  look !  Dere  is  Hennery  Simons,"  cried  Yankele, 
hoping  to  divert  his  attention.  But  he  only  made  matters 
worse. 

Henry  Simons  was  a  character  variously  known  as  the 
Tumbling  Jew,  Harry  the  Dancer,  and  the  Juggling  Jew. 
He  was  afterwards  to  become  famous  as  the  hero  of  a 
slander  case  which  deluged  England  with  pamphlets  for 
and  against,  but  for  the  present  he  had  merely  outraged  the 
feelings  of  his  fellow  Schnorrers  by  budding  out  in  a  direc- 
tion so  rare  as  to  suggest  preliminary  baptism.  He  stood 
now  playing  antic  and  sleight-of-hand  tricks  —  surrounded 
by  a  crowd  —  a  curious  figure  crowned  by  a  velvet  skull-cap 
from  which  wisps  of  hair  protruded,  with  a  scarlet  handker- 
chief thrust  through  his  girdle.  His  face  was  an  olive  oval, 
bordered  by  ragged  tufts  of  beard  and  stamped  with  melan- 
choly. 

"You  see  the  results  of  working,"  cried  Manasseh.  "It 
brings  temptation  to  work  on  Sabbath.  That  Epicurean 
there  is  profaning  the  Holy  Day.  Come  away  !  A  Schnor- 
rer is  far  more  certain  of  The-World-To-Come.  No,  de- 
cidedly, I  will  not  give  my  daughter  to  a  worker,  or  to  a 
Schnorrer  who  makes  illegitimate  profits." 

"  But  I  make  de  profits  all  de  same,"  persisted  Yankele". 

"  You  make  them  to-day —  but  to-morrow?  There  is  no 
certainty  about  them.  Work  of  whatever  kind  is  by  its  very 
nature  unreliable.  At  any  moment  trade  may  be  slack. 


THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS.  71 

People  may  become  less  pious,  and  you  lose  your  Synagogue- 
knocking.  Or  more  pious  —  and  they  won't  want  congre- 
gation-men." 

"  But  new  Synagogues  spring  up,"  urged  Yankele". 

"New  Synagogues  are  full  of  enthusiasm,"  retorted 
Manasseh.  "The  members  are  their  own  congregation- 
men." 

Yankele"  had  his  roguish  twinkle.  "  At  first,"  he  admitted, 
"  but  de  Schnorrer  vaits  his  time." 

Manasseh  shook  his  head.  "  Schnorring  is  the  only  occu- 
pation that  is  regular  all  the  year  round,"  he  said.  "  Every- 
thing else  may  fail  —  the  greatest  commercial  houses  may 
totter  to  the  ground ;  as  it  is  written,  «  He  humbleth  the 
proud.'  But  the  Schnorrer  is  always  secure.  Whoever 
falls,  there  are  always  enough  left  to  look  after  him.  If  you 
were  a  father,  Yankele",  you  would  understand  my  feelings. 
How  can  a  man  allow  his  daughter's  future  happiness  to 
repose  on  a  basis  so  uncertain  as  work?  No,  no.  What 
do  you  make  by  your  district  visiting  ?  Everything  turns  on 
that." 

"  Tventy-five  shilling  a  veek  !  " 

"Really?" 

"  Law  of  Moses !  In  sixpences,  shillings,  and  half- 
crowns.  Vy  in  Houndsditch  alone,  I  have  two  streets  all 
except  a  few  houses." 

"  But  are  they  safe  ?  Population  shifts.  Good  streets  go 
down." 

"  Dat  tventy-five  shillings  is  as  safe  as  Mocatta's  business. 
I  have  it  all  written  down  at  home  —  you  can  inspect  de 
books  if  you  choose." 

"No,  no,"  said  Manasseh,  with  a  grand  wave  of  his  stick. 
"  If  I  did  not  believe  you,  I  should  not  entertain  your  pro- 
posal fpr  a  moment.  It  rejoices  me  exceedingly  to  find  you 


72  THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 

have  devoted  so  much  attention  to  this  branch.  I  always 
held  strongly  that  the  rich  should  be  visited  in  their  own 
homes,  and  I  grieve  to  see  this  personal  touch,  this  contact 
with  the  very  people  to  whom  you  give  the  good  deeds, 
being  replaced  by  lifeless  circulars.  One  owes  it  to  one's 
position  in  life  to  afford  the  wealthy  classes  the  opportunity 
of  charity  warm  from  the  heart ;  they  should  not  be  neg- 
lected and  driven  in  their  turn  to  write  cheques  in  cold 
blood,  losing  all  that  human  sympathy  which  comes  from 
personal  intercourse  —  as  it  is  written,  'Charity  delivers 
from  death.'  But  do  you  think  charity  that  is  given  publicly 
through  a  secretary  and  advertised  in  annual  reports  has  so 
great  a  redeeming  power  as  that  slipped  privately  into  the 
hands  of  the  poor  man,  who  makes  a  point  of  keeping 
secret  from  every  donor  what  he  has  received  from  the 
others?  " 

"  I  am  glad  you  don't  call  collecting  de  money  vork," 
said  Yankel£,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm  which  was  lost  on  da 
Costa. 

"No,  so  long  as  the  donor  can't  show  any  'value  re- 
ceived '  in  return.  And  there's  more  friendship  in  such  a 
call,  Yankele,  than  in  going  to  a  house  of  mourning  to  pray 
for  a  fee." 

"  Oh,"  said  Yankele,  wincing.  "  Den  p'raps  you  strike  out 
all  my  Year-Time  item  !  " 

"  Year-Time  !     What's  that  ?  " 

"Don't  you  know?"  said  the  Pole,  astonished.  "Ven  a 
man  has  Year-Time,  he  feels  charitable  for  de  day." 

"  Do  you  mean  when  he  commemorates  the  anniversary 
of  the  death  of  one  of  his  family?  We  Sephardim  call  that 
'  making  years  '  !  But  are  there  enough  Year-Times,  as  you 
call  them,  in  your  Synagogue  ?  " 

"  Dere   might   be    more  —  I    only   make    about    fifteen 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  73 

pounds.  Our  colony  is,  as  you  say,  too  new.  De  Globe 
Road  Cemetery  is  as  empty  as  a  Synagogue  on  veek-days. 
De  faders  have  left  deir  faders  on  de  Continent,  and  kept 
many  Year-Times  out  of  de  country.  But  in  a  few  years 
many  faders  and  moders  must  die  off  here,  and  every  parent 
leaves  two  or  tree  sons  to  have  Year- Times,  and  every  child 
two  or  tree  broders  and  a  fader.  Den  every  day  more 
German  Jews  come  here  —  vich  means  more  and  more  to 
die.  I  tink  indeed  it  vould  be  fair  to  double  this  item." 

"  No,  no ;  stick  to  facts.  It  is  an  iniquity  to  speculate 
in  the  misfortunes  of  our  fellow-creatures." 

"  Somebody  must  die  dat  I  may  live,"  retorted  Yankel6 
roguishly ;  "  de  vorld  is  so  created.  Did  you  not  quote, 
'  Charity  delivers  from  death '  ?  If  people  lived  for  ever, 
Schnorrers  could  not  live  at  all." 

"  Hush  !  The  world  could  not  exist  without  Schnorrers. 
As  it  is  written,  '  And  Repentance  and  Prayer  and  CHARITY 
avert  the  evil  decree.'  Charity  is  put  last  —  it  is  the  climax 
—  the  greatest  thing  on  earth.  And  the  Schnorrer  is 
the  greatest  man  on  earth;  for  it  stands  in  the  Talmud, 
'  He  who  causes  is  greater  than  he  who  does.'  Therefore, 
the  Schnorrer  who  causes  charity  is  even  greater  than  he 
who  gives  it." 

"  Talk  of  de  devil,"  said  Yankele,  who  had  much  difficulty 
in  keeping  his  countenance  when  Manasseh  became  mag- 
nificent and  dithyrambic.  "  Vy,  dere  is  Greenbaum,  whose 
fader  vas  buried  yesterday.  Let  us  cross  over  by  accident 
and  vish  him  long  life." 

"  Greenbaum  dead !  Was  that  the  Greenbaum  on 
'Change,  who  was  such  a  rascal  with  the  wenches?" 

"  De  same,"  said  Yankete.  Then  approaching  the  son, 
he  cried,  "  Good  Sabbath,  Mr.  Greenbaum ;  I  vish  you  long 
life.  Vat  a  blow  for  de  community  !  " 


74 


THE  KING   GF  SCHNORRERS. 


"  It  comforts  me  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  the  son,  with 
a  sob  in  his  voice. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  "  said  Yanked  chokingly.  "  Your  fader  vas 
a  great  and  good  man  — just  my  size." 


'"YOUR   FADER   VAS  A   GREAT  AND   GOOD   MAN— JUST   MY   SIZE.'" 

"I've  already  given  them  away  to  Baruch  the  glazier," 
replied  the  mourner. 

"  But  he  has  his  glaziering,"  remonstrated  Yankele.  "  I 
have  noting  but  de  clothes  I  stand  in,  and  dey  don't  fit  me 
half  so  veil  as  your  fader's  vould  have  done." 

"  Baruch  has  been  very  unfortunate,"  replied  Greenbaum 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  76 

defensively.  "  He  had  a  misfortune  in  the  winter,  and  he 
has  never  got  straight  yet.  A  child  of  his  died,  and,  un- 
happily, just  when  the  snowballing  was  at  its  height,  so  that 
he  lost  seven  days  by  the  mourning."  And  he  moved 
away. 

"  Did  I  not  say  work  was  uncertain  ?  "  cried  Manasseh. 

"Not  all,"  maintained  the  Schnorrer.  "What  of  de  six 
guineas  I  make  by  carrying  round  de  Palm-branch  on 
Tabernacles  to  be  shaken  by  de  voomans  who  cannot  attend 
Synagogue,  and  by  blowing  de  trumpet  for  de  same  voomans 
on  New  Year,  so  dat  dey  may  break  deir  fasts  ?  " 

"The  amount  is  too  small  to  deserve  discussion.  Pass 
on." 

"Dere  is  a  smaller  amount — just  half  dat —  I  get  from 
de  presents  to  de  poor  at  de  Feast  of  Lots,  and  from  de 
Bridegrooms  of  de  Beginning  and  de  Bridegrooms  of  de  Law 
at  de  Rejoicing  of  de  Law,  and  dere  is  about  four  pounds 
ten  a  year  from  de  sale  of  clothes  given  to  me.  Den  I  have 
a  lot  o'  meals  given  me  —  dis,  I  have  reckoned,  is  as  good 
as  seven  pounds.  And,  lastly,  I  cannot  count  de  odds  and 
ends  under  ten  guineas.  You  know  dere  are  alvays  legacies, 
gifts,  distributions  —  all  unexpected.  You  never  know  who'll 
break  out  next." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it's  not  too  high  a  percentage  of  your 
income  to  expect  from  unexpected  sources,"  admitted 
Manasseh.  "  I  have  myself  lingered  about  'Change  Alley 
or  Sampson's  Coffee  House  just  when  the  jobbers  have 
pulled  off  a  special  coup,  and  they  have  paid  me  quite  a 
high  percentage  on  their  profits." 

"  And  I,"  boasted  Yankele',  stung  to  noble  emulation, 
"  have  made  two  sov'rans  in  von  minute  out  of  Gideon  de 
bullion-broker.  He  likes  to  give  Schnorrers  sov'rans,  as 
if  in  mistake  for  shillings,  to  see  vat  dey'll  do.  De  fools 


76  THE  KING  OF  SCHNORRERS. 

hurry  off,  or  move  slowly  avay,  as  if  not  noticing,  or  put 
it  quickly  in  de  pocket.  But  dose  who  have  visdom  tell 
him  he's  made  a  mistake,  and  he  gives  dem  anoder  sov'ran. 
Honesty  is  de  best  policy  with  Gideon.  Den  dere  is  Rabbi 
de  Falk,  de  Baal  Shem  —  de  great  Cabbalist.  Yen  —  " 

"  But,"  interrupted  Manasseh  impatiently,  "  you  haven't 
made  out  your  hundred  and  fifty  a  year." 

Yankee's  face  fell.     "  Not  if  you  cut  out  so  many  items." 

"  No,  but  even  all  inclusive  it  only  comes  to  a  hundred 
and  forty-three  pounds  nineteen  shillings." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Yankete,  staggered.  "  How  can  you 
know  so  exact  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  cannot  do  simple  addition?  "  responded 
Manasseh  sternly.  "  Are  not  these  your  ten  items?  " 

£     s.    d. 

1.  Synagogue  Pension,  with  Passover  extras  .  800 

2.  Synagogue-knocking  .         .         .         .  IO     10    o 

3.  District  Visiting 65       o    o 

4.  As  Congregation-man  and  Pyx-bearer         .  14       o     o 

5.  Year-Times 15       o     o 

6.  Palm-branch  and  Trumpet  Fees          .         .  660 

7.  Purim-presents,  &c 33° 

8.  Sale  of  Clothes 4100 

9.  Equivalent  of  Free  Meals  ....  700 
10.  Miscellanea,  the  unexpected       .         .         .  10     10     o 

Total .£143     19    o 

"  A  child  could  sum  it  up,"  concluded  Manasseh  severely. 
Yanked  was  subdued  to  genuine  respect  and  consternation 
by  da  Costa's  marvellous  memory  and  arithmetical  genius. 
But  he  rallied  immediately.  "  Of  course,  I  also  reckoned 
on  a  dowry  mid  my  bride,  if  only  a  hundred  pounds." 

"  Well,  invested  in  Consols,  that  would  not  bring  you  four 
pounds  more,"  replied  Manasseh  instantly. 


THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 


77 


*  The  rest  vill  be  made  up  in  extra  free  meals,"  Yankel£ 
answered  no  less  quickly.     "  For  ven  I  take  your  daughter 
off  your  hands  you  vill  be  able  to  afford  to  invite  me  more 
often   to    your   table 
dan  you  do  now." 

"Not  at  all,"  re- 
torted Manasseh,  "for 
now  that  I  know  how 
well  off  you  are  I  shall 
no  longer  feel  I  am 
doing  a  charity." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  vill," 
said  Yankele"  insinu- 
atingly. "  You  are 
too  much  a  man  of 
honour  to  know  as  a 
private  philantropist 
vat  I  have  told  de 
marriage  -  broker,  de 
fader-in-law  and  de 
fellow  Schnorrer.  Be- 
sides, I  vould  have 
de  free  meals  from 
you  as  de  son-in-law, 
not  de  Schnorrer" 

"  In  that  relation  I  should  also  have  free  meals  from  you," 
rejoined  Manasseh. 

"  I  never  dared  to  tink  you  vould  do  me  de  honour. 
But  even  so  I  can  never  give  you  such  good  meals  as  you 
give  me.  So  dere  is  still  a  balance  in  my  favour." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  da  Costa  thoughtfully.  "  But  you 
have  still  about  a  guinea  to  make  up." 

Yankete  was  driven  into  a  corner  at  last.     But  he  flashed 


'THE  TREMBLING  JEW. 


78  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

back,  without  perceptible  pause,  "  You  do  not  allow  for  vat 
I  save  by  my  piety.  I  fast  twenty  times  a  year,  and  surely 
dat  is  at  least  anoder  guinea  per  annum." 

"  But  you  will  have  children,"  retorted  da  Costa. 

Yankele  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Dat  is  de  affair  of  de  Holy  One,  blessed  be  He.  Yen 
He  sends  dem  He  vill  provide  for  dem.  You  must  not 
forget,  too,  dat  mid  your  daughter  de  dowry  vould  be  noting 
so  small  as  a  hundred  pounds." 

"  My  daughter  will  have  a  dowry  befitting  her  station,  cer- 
tainly," said  Manasseh,  with  his  grandest  manner ;  "  but  then 
I  had  looked  forward  to  her  marrying  a  king  of  Schnorrers." 

"  Veil,  but  ven  I  marry  her  I  shall  be." 

"  How  so?  " 

"  I  shall  have  schnorred  your  daughter  —  the  most  pre- 
cious thing  in  the  world  !  And  schnorred  her  from  a  king 
of  Schnorrers,  too  !  !  And  I  shall  have  schnorred  your 
services  as  marriage-broker  into  de  bargain  ! ! !  " 


CHAPTER   IV. 

SHOWING   HOW   THE   ROYAL   WEDDING   WAS   ARRANGED. 

MANASSEH  BUENO  BARZILLAI  AZEVEDO  DA  COSTA  was  so  im- 
pressed by  his  would-be  son-in-law's  last  argument  that  he 
perpended  it  in  silence  for  a  full  minute.  When  he  replied, 
his  tone  showed  even  more  respect  than  had  been  infused 
into  it  by  the  statement  of  the  aspirant's  income.  Manasseh 
was  not  of  those  to  whom  money  is  a  fetish ;  he  regarded 
it  merely  as  something  to  be  had  for  the  asking.  It  was 
intellect  for  which  he  reserved  his  admiration.  That  was 
strictly  not  transferable. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


79 


"  It  is  true,"  he  said,  "  that  if  I  yielded  to  your  im- 
portunities and  gave  you  my  daughter,  you  would  thereby 
have  approved  yourself  a  king  of  Schnorrers,  of  a  rank 
suitable  to  my  daughter's,  but  an  analysis  of  your  argument 
will  show  that  you  are  begging  the  question." 


"  '  VAT   MORE  PROOF   DO  YOU   VANT  ?  '  " 

"Vat  more  proof  do  you  vant  of  my  begging  powers?" 
demanded  Yankele,  spreading  out  his  palms  and  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

"  Much  greater  proof,"  replied  Manasseh.  "  I  ought  to 
have  some  instance  of  your  powers.  The  only  time  I  have 
seen  you  try  to  schnorr  you  failed." 


80  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  Me  !  ven  ?  "  exclaimed  Yankele  indignantly. 

"  Why,  this  very  night.  When  you  asked  young  Wein- 
stein  for  his  dead  father's  clothes  !  " 

"  But  he  had  already  given  them  away  !  "  protested  the 
Pole. 

"  What  of  that  ?  If  anyone  had  given  away  my  clothes, 
I  should  have  demanded  compensation.  You  must  really 
be  above  rebuffs  of  that  kind,  Yanked,  if  you  are  to  be  my 
son-in-law.  No,  no,  I  remember  the  dictum  of  the  Sages  : 
'  To  give  your  daughter  to  an  uncultured  man  is  like  throw- 
ing her  bound  to  a  lion.'  " 

"  But  you  have  also  seen  me  schnorr  mid  success,"  re- 
monstrated the  suitor. 

"  Never  ! "  protested  Manasseh  vehemently. 

"  Often  ! " 

"  From  whom  ?  " 

"  From  you  !  "  said  Yankel£  boldly. 

"  From  me!  "  sneered  Manasseh,  accentuating  the  pro- 
noun with  infinite  contempt.  "  What  does  that  prove  ?  I 
am  a  generous  man.  The  test  is  to  schnorr  from  a  miser." 

"  I  vill  schnorr  from  a  miser  !  "  announced  Yankele  des- 
perately. 

"  You  will !  " 

"  Yes.     Choose  your  miser." 

"  No,  I  leave  it  to  you,"  said  da  Costa  politely. 

"  Veil,  Sam  Lazarus,  de  butcher  shop  !  " 

"  No,  not  Sam  Lazarus,  he  once  gave  a  Schnorrer  I  know 
elevenpence." 

"Elevenpence?  "  incredulously  murmured  Yankele^ 

"  Yes,  it  was  the  only  way  he  could  pass  a  shilling.  It 
wasn't  bad,  only  cracked,  but  he  could  get  no  one  to  take 
it  except  a  Schnorrer.  He  made  the  man  give  him  a 
penny  change  though.  Tis  true  the  man  afterwards  laid 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  81 

out  the  shilling  at  Lazarus's  shop.  Still  a  really  great  miser 
would  have  added  that  cracked  shilling  to  his  hoard  rather 
than  the  perfect  penny." 

"  No,"  argued  Yanked,  "  dere  vould  be  no  difference, 
since  he  does  not  spend." 

"  True,"  said  da  Costa  reflectively,  "  but  by  that  same 
token  a  miser  is  not  the  most  difficult  person  to  tackle." 

"  How  do  you  make  dat  out?  " 

"  Is  it  not  obvious  ?  Already  we  see  Lazarus  giving  away 
elevenpence.  A  miser  who  spends  nothing  on  himself  may, 
in  exceptional  cases,  be  induced  to  give  away  something. 
It  is  the  man  who  indulges  himself  in  every  luxury  and 
gives  away  nothing  who  is  the  hardest  to  schnorr  from. 
He  has  a  use  for  his  money  —  himself !  If  you  diminish 
his  store  you  hurt  him  in  the  tenderest  part  —  you  rob  him 
of  creature  comforts.  To  schnorr  from  such  a  one  I  should 
regard  as  a  higher  and  nobler  thing  than  to  schnorr  from  a 
mere  miser." 

"  Veil,  name  your  man." 

"No  —  I  couldn't  think  of  taking  it  out  of  your  hands," 
said  Manasseh  again  with  his  stately  bow.  "Whomever 
you  select  I  will  abide  by.  If  I  could  not  rely  on  your 
honour,  would  I  dream  of  you  as  a  son-in-law?  " 

"  Den  I  vill  go  to  Mendel  Jacobs,  of  Mary  Axe." 

"  Mendel  Jacobs  —  oh,  no  !  Why,  he's  married  !  A  mar- 
ried man  cannot  be  entirely  devoted  to  himself." 

"  Vy  not  ?  Is  not  a  vife  a  creature  comfort  ?  P'raps  also 
she  comes  cheaper  dan  a  housekeeper." 

"  We  will  not  argue  it.     I  will  not  have  Mendel  Jacobs." 

"Simon  Kelutski,  de  vine-merchant." 

"  He  !  He  is  quite  generous  with  his  snuff-box.  I  have 
myself  been  offered  a  pinch.  Of  course  I  did  not  accept  it." 

Yankele   selected   several   other    names,   but    Manasseh 


82  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

barred  them  all,  and  at  last  had  an  inspiration  of  his 
own. 

"  Isn't  there  a  Rabbi  in  your  community  whose  stinginess 
is  proverbial?  Let  me  see,  what's  his  name?  " 

"A  Rabbi!"  murmured  Yankele"  disingenuously,  while 
his  heart  began  to  palpitate  with  alarm. 

"Yes,  isn't  there  —  Rabbi  Bloater  !  " 

Yankele  shook  his  head.  Ruin  stared  him  in  the  face  — 
his  fondest  hopes  were  crumbling. 

"I  know  its  some  fishy  name  —  Rabbi  Haddock — no  it 
isn't.  It's  Rabbi  Remorse  something." 

Yanked  saw  it  was  all  over  with  him. 

"  P'raps  you  mean  Rabbi  Remorse  Red-herring,"  he  said 
feebly,  for  his  voice  failed  him. 

"Ah,  yes  !  Rabbi  Remorse  Red-herring,"  said  Manasseh. 
'•  From  all  I  hear  —  for  I  have  never  seen  the  man — a  king 
of  guzzlers  and  topers,  and  the  meanest  of  mankind.  Now 
if  you  could  dine  with  him  you  might  indeed  be  called  a 
king  of  Schnorrers" 

Yankele"  was  pale  and  trembling.  "  But  he  is  married  !  " 
he  urged,  with  a  happy  thought. 

"  Dine  with  him  to-morrow,"  said  Manasseh  inexorably. 
"  He  fares  extra  royally  on  the  Sabbath.  Obtain  admission 
to  his  table,  and  you  shall  be  admitted  into  my  family." 

"But  you  do  not  know  the  man  —  it  is  impossible!" 
cried  Yankele\ 

"That  is  the  excuse  of  the  bad  Schnorrer.  You  have 
heard  my  ultimatum.  No  dinner,  no  wife.  No  wife  —  no 
dowry  !  " 

"Vat  vould  dis  dowry  be?"  asked  Yankele",  by  way  of 
diversion. 

"  Oh,  unique  —  quite  unique.  First  of  all  there  would  be 
all  the  money  she  gets  from  the  Synagogue.  Our  Synagogue 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  83 

gives  considerable  dowries  to  portionless  girls.  There  are 
large  bequests  for  the  purpose." 

Yankee's  eyes  glittered. 

"Ah,  vat  gentlemen  you  Spaniards  be  !  " 

"  Then  I  daresay  I  should  hand  over  to  my  son-in-law  all 
my  Jerusalem  land." 

"  Have  you  property  in  de  Holy  Land?  "  said  Yankel6. 

"First  class,  with  an  unquestionable  title.  And,  of  course, 
I  would  give  you  some  province  or  other  in  this  country." 

"  What !  "  gasped  Yankee. 

"  Could  I  do  less  ?  "  said  Manasseh  blandly.  "  My  own 
flesh  and  blood,  remember  !  Ah,  here  is  my  door.  It  is 
too  late  to  ask  you  in.  Good  Sabbath  !  Don't  forget  your 
appointment  to  dine  with  Rabbi  Remorse  Red-herring  to- 
morrow." 

"  Good  Sabbath  ! "  faltered  Yankele,  and  crawled  home 
heavy-hearted  to  Dinah's  Buildings,  Tripe  Yard,  White- 
chapel,  where  the  memory  of  him  lingers  even  unto  this 
day. 

Rabbi  Remorse  Red-herring  was  an  unofficial  preacher 
who  officiated  at  mourning  services  in  private  houses,  having 
a  gift  of  well-turned  eulogy.  He  was  a  big,  burly  man  with 
overlapping  stomach  and  a  red  beard,  and  his  spiritual  con- 
solations drew  tears.  His  clients  knew  him  to  be  vastly  self- 
indulgent  in  private  life,  and  abstemious  in  the  matter  of 
benevolence ;  but  they  did  not  confound  the  rdles.  As  a 
mourning  preacher  he  gave  every  satisfaction  :  he  was  regu- 
lar and  punctual,  and  did  not  keep  the  congregation  waiting, 
and  he  had  had  considerable  experience  in  showing  that 
there  was  yet  balm  in  Gilead. 

He  had  about  five  ways  of  showing  it  —  the  variants  de- 
pending upon  the  circumstances.  If,  as  not  infrequently 
happened,  the  person  deceased  was  a  stranger  to  him,  he 


84  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

would  enquire  in  the  passage  :  "  Was  it  man  or  woman  ? 
Boy  or  girl?  Married  or  single?  Any  children?  Young 
'uns  or  old  'uns?" 

When  these  questions  had  been  answered,  he  was  ready. 
He  knew  exactly  which  of  his  five  consolatory  addresses  to 
deliver  —  they  were  all  sufficiently  vague  and  general  to 
cover  considerable  variety  of  circumstance,  and  even  when 
he  misheard  the  replies  in  the  passage,  and  dilated  on  the 
grief  of  a  departed  widower's  relict,  the  results  were  not 
fatal  throughout.  The  few  impossible  passages  might  be 
explained  by  the  mishearing  of  the  audience.  Sometimes 
— very  rarely  —  he  would  venture  on  a  supplementary  sen- 
tence or  two  fitting  the  specific  occasion,  but  very  cautiously, 
for  a  man  with  a  reputation  for  extempore  addresses  cannot 
be  too  wary  of  speaking  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

Off  obituary  lines  he  was  a  failure ;  at  any  rate,  his  one 
attempt  to  preach  from  an  English  Synagogue  pulpit  resulted 
in  a  nickname.  His  theme  was  Remorse,  which  he  ex- 
plained with  much  care  to  the  congregation. 

"  For  instance,"  said  the  preacher,  "  the  other  day  I  was 
walking  over  London  Bridge,  when  I  saw  a  fishwife  standing 
with  a  basket  of  red-herrings.  I  says,  '  How  much  ?  '  She 
says,  '  Two  for  three-halfpence.'  I  says,  '  Oh,  that's  fright- 
fully dear  !  I  can  easily  get  three  for  twopence.'  But  she 
wouldn't  part  with  them  at  that  price,  so  I  went  on,  think- 
ing I'd  meet  another  woman  with  a  similar  lot  over  the 
water.  They  were  lovely  fat  herrings,  and  my  chaps  watered 
in  anticipation  of  the  treat  of  eating  them.  But  when  I  got 
to  the  other  end  of  the  bridge  there  was  no  other  fishwife 
to  be  seen.  So  I  resolved  to  turn  back  to  the  first  fishwife, 
for,  after  all,  I  reflected,  the  herrings  were  really  very  cheap, 
and  I  had  only  complained  in  the  way  of  business.  But 
when  I  got  back  the  woman  was  just  sold  out.  I  could 


THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS.  85 

have  torn  my  hair  with  vexation.  Now,  that's  what  I  call 
Remorse." 

After  that  the  Rabbi  was  what  the  congregation  called 
Remorse ;  also  Red-herring. 

The  Rabbi's  fondness  for  concrete  exemplification  of  ab- 


"  '  I   COULD   HAVE  TORN   MY  HAIR.'  " 

stract  ideas  was  not,  however,  to  be  stifled,  and  there  was 
one  illustration  of  Charity  which  found  a  place  in  all  the  five 
sermons  of  consolation. 

"  If  you  have  a  pair  of  old  breeches,  send  them  to  the 
Rabbi." 

Rabbi  Remorse  Red-herring  was,  however,  as  is  the  way 
of  preachers,  himself  aught  but  a  concrete  exemplification 


86  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

of  the  virtues  he  inculcated.  He  lived  generously  —  through 
other  people's  generosity  —  but  no  one  could  boast  of  hav- 
ing received  a  farthing  from  him  over  and  above  what  was 
due  to  them ;  while  Schnorrers  (who  deemed  considerable 
sums  due  to  them)  regarded  him  in  the  light  of  a  defalcat- 
ing bankrupt.  He,  for  his  part,  had  a  countervailing  grudge 
against  the  world,  fancying  the  work  he  did  for  it  but  feebly 
remunerated.  "  I  get  so  little,"  ran  his  bitter  plaint,  "  that 
I  couldn't  live,  if  it  were  not  for  the  fasts."  And,  indeed, 
the  fasts  of  the  religion  were  worth  much  more  to  him  than 
to  Yankele'  ;  his  meals  were  so  profuse  that  his  savings  from 
this  source  were  quite  a  little  revenue.  As  Yankele'  had 
pointed  out,  he  was  married.  And  his  wife  had  given  him  a 
child,  but  it  died  at  the  age  of  seven,  bequeathing  to  him 
the  only  poignant  sorrow  of  his  life.  He  was  too  jealous  to 
call  in  a  rival  consolation  preacher  during  those  dark  days, 
and  none  of  his  own  five  sermons  seemed  to  fit  the  case.  It 
was  some  months  before  he  took  his  meals  regularly. 

At  no  time  had  anyone  else  taken  meals  in  his  house, 
except  by  law  entitled.  Though  she  had  only  two  to  cook 
for,  his  wife  habitually  provided  for  three,  counting  her 
husband  no  mere  unit.  Herself  she  reckoned  as  a  half. 

It  was  with  intelligible  perturbation,  therefore,  that  Yankeld, 
dressed  in  some  other  man's  best,  approached  the  house  of 
Rabbi  Remorse  Red-herring  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before 
the  Sabbath  mid-day  meal,  intent  on  sharing  it  with  him. 

"  No  dinner,  no  marriage  ! "  was  da  Costa's  stern  ukase. 

What  wonder  if  the  inaccessible  meal  took  upon  itself  the 
grandiosity  of  a  wedding  feast !  Deborah  da  Costa's  lovely 
face  tantalised  him  like  a  mirage. 

The  Sabbath  day  was  bleak,  but  chiller  was  his  heart.  The 
Rabbi  had  apartments  in  Steward  Street,  Spitalfields,  an 
elegant  suite  on  the  ground-floor,  for  he  stinted  himself  in 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


87 


nothing  but  charity.  At  the  entrance  was  a  porch  —  a 
pointed  Gothic  arch  of  wood  supported  by  two  pillars.  As 
Yanked  mounted  the  three  wooden  steps,  breathing  as  pain- 
fully as  if  they  were  three  hundred,  and  wondering  if  he  would 
ever  get  merely  as  far  as  the 
other  side  of  the  door,  he 
was  assailed  by  the  tempta- 
tion to  go  and  dine  peace- 
fully at  home,  and  represent 
to  da  Costa  that  he  had 
feasted  with  the  Rabbi.  Ma- 
nasseh  would  never  know, 
Manasseh  had  taken  no 
steps  to  ascertain  if  he  sat- 
isfied the  test  or  not.  Such 
carelessness,  he  told  him- 
self in  righteous  indigna- 
tion, deserved  fitting  pun- 
ishment. But,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  recalled  Manas- 
seh's  trust  in  him ;  Ma- 
nasseh believed  him  a  man 
of  honour,  and  the  patron's 
elevation  of  soul  awoke  an 
answering  chivalry  in  the 
parasite. 

He  decided  to  make  the  attempt  at  least,  for  there  would 
be  plenty  of  time  to  say  he  had  succeeded,  after  he  had  failed. 

Vibrating  with  tremors  of  nobility  as  well  as  of  apprehen- 
sion, Yanked  lifted  the  knocker.  He  had  no  programme, 
trusting  to  chance  and  mother-wit. 

Mrs.  Remorse  Red-herring  half  opened  the  door. 

"  I  vish  to  see  de  Rabbi,"  he  said,  putting  one  foot  within. 


1  I   VISH   TO   SEE   DE   RABBI.' ' 


88  THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  He  is  engaged,"  said  the  wife  —  a  tiny  thin  creature 
who  had  been  plump  and  pretty.  "  He  is  very  busy  talking 
with  a  gentleman." 

"  Oh,  but  I  can  vait." 

"  But  the  Rabbi  will  be  having  his  dinner  soon." 

"  I  can  vait  till  after  dinner,"  said  Yankel6  obligingly. 

"  Oh,  but  the  Rabbi  sits  long  at  table." 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  Yankele'  with  undiminished  placidity, 
"  de  longer  de  better." 

The  poor  woman  looked  perplexed.  "  I'll  tell  my  hus- 
band," she  said  at  last. 

Yankel£  had  an  anxious  moment  in  the  passage. 

"The  Rabbi  wishes  to  know  what  you  want,"  she  said 
when  she  returned. 

"  I  vant  to  get  married,"  said  Yankel£  with  an  inspiration 
of  veracity. 

"  But  my  husband  doesn't  marry  people." 

"Vy  not?" 

"  He  only  brings  consolation  into  households,"  she  ex- 
plained ingenuously. 

"Veil,  I  won't  get  married  midout  him,"  Yankel£  mur- 
mured lugubriously. 

The  little  woman  went  back  in  bewilderment  to  her 
bosom's  lord.  Forthwith  out  came  Rabbi  Remorse  Red-her- 
ring, curiosity  and  cupidity  in  his  eyes.  He  wore  the  skull- 
cap of  sanctity,  but  looked  the  gourmand  in  spite  of  it. 

"  Good  Sabbath,  sir  !  What  is  this  about  your  getting 
married  ?  " 

"  It's  a  long  story,"  said  Yanked,  "  and  as  your  good  vife 
told  me  your  dinner  is  just  ready,  I  mustn't  keep  you 
now." 

"  No,  there  are  still  a  few  minutes  before  dinner.  What 
is  it?" 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  89 

Yankele"  shook  his  head.  "  I  couldn't  tink  of  keeping  you 
in  dis  draughty  passage." 

"  I  don't  mind.     I  don't  feel  any  draught." 

"  Dat's  just  vere  de  danger  lays.  You  don't  notice,  and 
one  day  you  find  yourself  laid  up  mid  rheumatism,  and  you 
vill  have  Remorse,"  said  Yankele'  with  a  twinkle.  "Your 
life  is  precious  —  if  you  die,  who  vill  console  de  com- 
munity? " 

It  was  an  ambiguous  remark,  but  the  Rabbi  understood 
it  in  its  most  flattering  sense,  and  his  little  eyes  beamed. 
"I  would  ask  you  inside,"  he  said,  "but  I  have  a  vis- 
itor." 

"  No  matter,"  said  Yankele",  "  vat  I  have  to  say  to  you, 
Rabbi,  is  not  private.  A  stranger  may  hear  it." 

Still  undecided,  the  Rabbi  muttered,  "You  want  me  to 
marry  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  get  married,"  replied  Yankele\ 

"  But  I  have  never  been  called  upon  to  marry  people." 

"  It's  never  too  late  to  mend,  dey  say." 

"Strange — strange,"  murmured  the  Rabbi  reflectively. 

"  Vat  is  strange  ?  " 

"  That  you  should  come  to  me  just  to-day.  But  why  did 
you  not  go  to  Rabbi  Sandman?  " 

"  Rabbi  Sandman  ! "  replied  Yankele"  with  contempt. 
"  Vere  vould  be  de  good  of  going  to  him  ?  " 

"  But  why  not?  " 

"  Every  Schnorrer  goes  to  him,"  said  Yankel£  frankly. 

"  Hum  ! "  mused  the  Rabbi.  "  Perhaps  there  is  an  open- 
ing for  a  more  select  marrier.  Come  in,  then,  I  can  give 
you  five  minutes  if  you  really  don't  mind  talking  before  a 
stranger." 

He  threw  open  the  door,  and  led  the  way  into  the  sitting- 
room. 


90  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

Yankele"  followed,  exultant ;  the  outworks  were  already 
carried,  and  his  heart  beat  high  with  hope.  But  at  his  first 
glance  within,  he  reeled  and  almost  fell. 

Standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire  and  dominating  the 
room  was  Manasseh  Bueno  Barzillai  Azevedo  da  Costa  ! 

"Ah,  Yankele",  good  Sabbath  ! "  said  da  Costa  affably. 

"  G-g-ood  Sabbath  !  "  stammered  Yankele. 

"  Why,  you  know  each  other  ! "  cried  the  Rabbi. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Manasseh,  "  an  acquaintance  of  yours, 
too,  apparently." 

"  No,  he  is  just  come  to  see  me  about  something,"  replied 
the  Rabbi. 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  know  the  Rabbi,  Mr.  da  Costa?  " 
Yankele"  could  not  help  saying. 

"  I  didn't.  I  only  had  the  pleasure  of  making  his  ac- 
quaintance half  an  hour  ago.  I  met  him  in  the  street  as  he 
was  coming  home  from  morning  service,  and  he  was  kind 
enough  to  invite  me  to  dinner." 

Yankele"  gasped ;  despite  his  secret  amusement  at  Manas- 
seh's  airs,  there  were  moments  when  the  easy  magnificence 
of  the  man  overwhelmed  him,  extorted  his  reluctant  admi- 
ration. How  in  Heaven's  name  had  the  Spaniard  conquered 
at  a  blow ! 

Looking  down  at  the  table,  he  now  observed  that  it  was 
already  laid  for  dinner  —  and  for  three  !  He  should  have 
been  that  third.  Was  it  fair  of  Manasseh  to  handicap  him 
thus?  Naturally,  there  would  be  infinitely  less  chance  of  a 
fourth  being  invited  than  a  third  —  to  say  nothing  of  the 
dearth  of  provisions.  "  But,  surely,  you  don't  intend  to 
stay  to  dinner  !  "  he  complained  in  dismay. 

"I  have  given  my  word,"  said  Manasseh,  "and  I  shouldn't 
care  to  disappoint  the  Rabbi." 

"  Oh,  it's   no   disappointment,  no   disappointment,"  re- 


THE  KING  OF  SCHNORRERS.  91 

marked  Rabbi  Remorse  Red-herring  cordially,  "I  could 
just  as  well  come  round  and  see  you  after  dinner." 

"After  dinner  I  never  see  people,"  said  Manasseh  majes- 
tically ;  "  I  sleep." 

The  Rabbi  dared  not  make  further  protest :  he  turned  to 
Yankeld  and  asked,  "Well,  now,  what's  this  about  your 
marriage?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you  before  Mr.  da  Costa,"  replied  Yankeld, 
to  gain  time. 

"Why  not?     You  said  anybody  might  hear." 

"  Noting  of  the  sort.  I  said  a  stranger  might  hear.  But 
Mr.  da  Costa  isn't  a  stranger.  He  knows  too  much  about 
de  matter." 

"  What  shall  we  do,  then?  "  murmured  the  Rabbi. 

"  I  can  vait  till  after  dinner,"  said  Yankel£,  with  good- 
natured  carelessness,  "/don't  sleep  —  " 

Before  the  Rabbi  could  reply,  the  wife  brought  in  a  baked 
dish,  and  set  it  on  the  table.  Her  husband  glowered  at 
her,  but  she,  regular  as  clockwork,  and  as  unthinking,  pro- 
duced the  black  bottle  of  schnapps.  It  was  her  husband's 
business  to  get  rid  of  Yankel£ ;  her  business  was  to  bring 
on  the  dinner.  If  she  had  delayed,  he  would  have  raged 
equally.  She  was  not  only  wife,  but  maid-of-all-work. 

Seeing  the  advanced  state  of  the  preparations,  Manasseh 
da  Costa  took  his  seat  at  the  table ;  obeying  her  husband's 
significant  glance,  Mrs.  Red-herring  took  'up  her  position  at 
the  foot.  The  Rabbi  himself  sat  down  at  the  head,  behind 
the  dish.  He  always  served,  being  the  only  person  he  could 
rely  upon  to  gauge  his  capacities.  Yankel6  was  left  stand- 
ing. The  odour  of  the  meat  and  potatoes  impregnated  the 
atmosphere  with  wistful  poetry. 

Suddenly  the  Rabbi  looked  up  and  perceived  Yankele". 
"  Will  you  do  as  we  do?  "  he  said  in  seductive  accents. 


92  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

The  Schnorrer's  heart  gave  one  wild,  mad  throb  of  joy. 
He  laid  his  hand  on  the  only  other  chair. 

"  I  don't  mind  if  I  do,"  he  said,  with  responsive  amia- 
bility. 

"Then  go  home  and  have  your  dinner,"  said  the  Rabbi. 

Yankele's  wild  heart- beat  was  exchanged  for  a  stagnation 
as  of  death.  A  shiver  ran  down  his  spine.  He  darted 
an  agonised  appealing  glance  at  Manasseh,  who  sniggered 
inscrutably. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  tink  I  ought  to  go  avay  and  leave  you 
midout  a  tird  man  for  grace,"  he  said,  in  tones  of  prophetic 
rebuke.  "  Since  I  be  here,  it  vould  be  a  sin  not  to  stay." 

The  Rabbi,  having  a  certain  connection  with  religion,  was 
cornered ;  he  was  not  able  to  repudiate  such  an  opportunity 
of  that  more  pious  form  of  grace  which  needs  the  presence 
of  three  males. 

"  Oh,  I  should  be  very  glad  for  you  to  stay,"  said  the 
Rabbi,  "  but,  unfortunately,  we  have  only  three  meat-plates." 

"  Oh,  de  dish  vill  do  for  me." 

"  Very  well,  then  !  "  said  the  Rabbi. 

And  Yankel£,  with  the  old  mad  heart-beat,  took  the  fourth 
chair,  darting  a  triumphant  glance  at  the  still  sniggering 
Manasseh. 

The  hostess  rose,  misunderstanding  her  husband's  optical 
signals,  and  fished  out  a  knife  and  fork  from  the  recesses  of 
a  chiffonier.  The  host  first  heaped  his  own  plate  high  with 
artistically  coloured  potatoes  and  stiff  meat  —  less  from  dis- 
courtesy than  from  life-long  habit  —  then  divided  the  re- 
mainder in  unequal  portions  between  Manasseh  and  the 
little  woman,  in  rough  correspondence  with  their  sizes. 
Finally,  he  handed  Yankete  the  empty  dish. 

"You  see  there  is  nothing  left,"  he  said  simply.  "We 
didn't  even  expect  one  visitor." 


"'THEN  GO  HOME  AND   HAVE  YOUR  DINNER.'" 


94  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  First  come,  first  served,"  observed  Manasseh,  with  his 
sphinx-like  expression,  as  he  fell-to. 

Yankel£  sat  frozen,  staring  blankly  at  the  dish,  his  brain 
as  empty.  He  had  lost. 

Such  a  dinner  was  a  hollow  mockery  —  like  the  dish.  He 
could  not  expect  Manasseh  to  accept  it,  quibbled  he  ever 
so  cunningly.  He  sat  for  a  minute  or  two  as  in  a  dream, 
the  music  of  knife  and  fork  ringing  mockingly  in  his  ears, 
his  hungry  palate  moistened  by  the  delicious  savour.  Then 
he  shook  off  his  stupor,  and  all  his  being  was  desperately 
astrain,  questing  for  an  idea.  Manasseh  discoursed  with  his 
host  on  neo- Hebrew  literature. 

"  We  thought  of  starting  a  journal  at  Grodno,"  said  the 
Rabbi,  "  only  the  funds  —  " 

"Be  you  den  a  native  of  Grodno?"  interrupted  Yan- 
kele. 

"  Yes,  I  was  born  there,"  mumbled  the  Rabbi,  "  but  I  left 
there  twenty  years  ago."  His  mouth  was  full,  and  he  did 
not  cease  to  ply  the  cutlery. 

"Ah!"  said  Yankete  enthusiastically,  "den  you  must  be 
de  famous  preacher  everybody  speaks  of.  I  do  not  remem- 
ber you  myself,  for  I  vas  a  boy,  but  dey  say  ve  haven't  got 
no  such  preachers  nowaday." 

"  In  Grodno  my  husband  kept  a  brandy  shop,"  put  in  the 
hostess. 

There  was  a  bad  quarter  of  a  minute  of  silence.  To 
Yankele's  relief,  the  Rabbi  ended  it  by  observing,  "  Yes,  but 
doubtless  the  gentleman  (you  will  excuse  me  calling  you 
that,  sir,  I  don't  know  your  real  name)  alluded  to  my  fame 
as  a  boy-Maggid.  At  the  age  of  five  I  preached  to  audi- 
ences of  many  hundreds,  and  my  manipulation  of  texts,  my 
demonstrations  that  they  did  not  mean  what  they  said,  drew 
tears  even  from  octogenarians  familiar  with  the  Torah  from 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


95 


their  earliest  infancy.  It  was  said  there  never  was  such 
a  wonder-child  since  Ben  Sira." 

"  But  why  did  you  give  it  up  ?  "  enquired  Manasseh. 

"  It  gave  me  up,"  said  the  Rabbi,  putting  down  his  knife 
and  fork  to  expound  an  ancient  grievance.  "  A  boy-Maggid 
cannot  last  more  than  a  few  years.  Up  to  nine  I  was  still  a 
draw,  but  every  year  the 
wonder  grew  less,  and, 
when  I  was  thirteen,  my 
Bar-Mitzvah  (confirma- 
tion) sermon  occasioned 
no  more  sensation  than 
those  of  the  many  other 
lads  whose  sermons  I 
had  written  for  them. 
I  struggled  along  as  boy- 
ishly as  I  could  for  some 
time  after  that,  but  it 
was  in  a  losing  cause. 
My  age  won  on  me  daily. 
As  it  is  said,  '  I  have 
been  young,  and  now  I 
am  old.'  In  vain  I  com- 
posed the  most  eloquent 
addresses  to  be  heard  in 
Grodno.  In  vain  I  gave 

a  course  on  the  emotions,  with  explanations  and  instances 
from  daily  life  —  the  fickle  public  preferred  younger  attrac- 
tions. So  at  last  I  gave  it  up  and  sold  vodki" 

"  Vat  a  pity  !     Vat  a  pity  ! "  ejaculated  Yankete,  "  after 
vinning  fame  in  de  Torah  !  " 

"But  what  is  a  man  to  do?     He  is  not  always  a  boy," 
replied  the  Rabbi.     "Yes,  I  kept  a  brandy  shop.     That's 


96  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

what  I  call  Degradation.  But  there  is  always  balm  in 
Gilead.  I  lost  so  much  money  over  it  that  I  had  to  emi- 
grate to  England,  where,  finding  nothing  else  to  do,  I  be- 
came a  preacher  again."  He  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of 
schnapps,  ignoring  the  water. 

"  I  heard  nothing  of  de  vodki  shop,"  said  Yankele"  ;  "  it 
vas  svallowed  up  in  your  earlier  fame." 

The  Rabbi  drained  the  glass  of  schnapps,  smacked  his 
lips,  and  resumed  his  knife  and  fork.  Manasseh  reached 
for  the  unoffered  bottle,  and  helped  himself  liberally.  The 
Rabbi  unostentatiously  withdrew  it  beyond  his  easy  reach, 
looking  at  Yankele'  the  while. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  England  ?  "  he  asked  the 
Pole. 

"  Not  long,"  said  Yankele. 

"  Ha  !    Does  Gabriel  the  cantor  still  suffer  from  neuralgia  ?  " 

Yankele"  looked  sad.     "No  —  he  is  dead,"  he  said. 

"  Dear  me  !  Well,  he  was  tottering  when  I  knew  him. 
His  blowing  of  the  ram's  horn  got  wheezier  every  year. 
And  how  is  his  young  brother,  Samuel?" 

"  He  is  dead  ! "  said  Yankele. 

"  What,  he  too  !  Tut,  tut !  He  was  so  robust.  Has 
Mendelssohn,  the  stonemason,  got  many  more  girls?" 

"  He  is  dead  !  "  said  Yankele. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  gasped  the  Rabbi,  dropping  his  knife  and 
fork.  "Why,  I  heard  from  him  only  a  few  months  ago." 

"  He  is  dead  !  "  said  Yankele. 

"  Good  gracious  me  !  Mendelssohn  dead  !  "  After  a 
moment  of  emotion  he  resumed  his  meal.  "  But  his  sons 
and  daughters  are  all  doing  well,  I  hope.  The  eldest,  Solo- 
mon, was  a  most  pious  youth,  and  his  third  girl,  Neshamah, 
promised  to  be  a  rare  beauty." 

"They  are  dead  !  "  said  Yankele. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


This  time  the  Rabbi  turned  pale  as  a  corpse  himself.  He 
laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  automatically. 

"D  —  dead,"  he  breathed  in  an  awestruck  whisper.  "All?" 

"  Everyone.     De  same  cholera  took  all  de  family." 

The  Rabbi  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  "  Then  poor 
Solomon's  wife  is  a  widow.  I  hope  he  left  her  enough  to 
live  upon." 

"  No,  but  it  doesn't  matter,"  said  Yankele". 

"  It  matters  a  great  deal,"  cried  the  Rabbi. 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  Yankete. 

"  Rebecca  Schwartz  dead  ! "  screamed  the  Rabbi,  for  he 
had  once  loved  the  maiden  himself,  and,  not  having  married 
her,  had  still  a  tenderness 
for  her. 

"  Rebecca  Schwartz,"  re- 
peated Yankele"  inexorably. 

"Was  it  the  cholera?" 
faltered  the  Rabbi. 

"  No,    she     vas     heart- 
broke." 

Rabbi     Remorse     Red- 
herring  silently  pushed  his 


IN   MOURNFUL   MEDITATION." 


plate  away,  and  leaned  his 

elbows  upon  the  table  and 

his  face  upon  his  palms,  and  his  chin  upon  the  bottle  of 

schnapps  in  mournful  meditation. 

"  You  are  not  eating,  Rabbi,"  said  Yankele"  insinuatingly. 

"  I  have  lost  my  appetite,"  said  the  Rabbi. 

"  Vat  a  pity  to  let  food  get  cold  and  spoil !     You'd  better 
eat  it." 

The  Rabbi  shook  his  head  querulously. 

"Den  I  vill  eat  it,"  cried  Yankele  indignantly.     "Good 
hot  food  like  dat !  " 


98  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"As  you  like,"  said  the  Rabbi  wearily.      And  Yanked 
began  to  eat  at  lightning  speed,  pausing  only  to  wink  at  the 
inscrutable  Manasseh ;  and  to  cast  yearning  glances  at  the 
inaccessible  schnapps  that  supported  the  Rabbi's  chin. 
Presently  the  Rabbi  looked  up  :  "  You're  quite  sure  all 
these  people  are  dead?"  he 
asked  with  a  dawning  suspi- 
cion. 

"  May  my  blood  be  poured 
out  like  this  schnapps"  pro- 
tested Yankele",  dislodging  the 
bottle,  and  vehemently  pour- 
ing the  spirit  into  a  tumbler, 
"if  dey  be  not." 

The  Rabbi  relapsed  into  his 
moody  attitude,  and  retained 
it  till  his  wife  brought  in  a  big 
willow-pattern  china  dish  of 
stewed  prunes  and  pippins. 
She  produced  four  plates  for 
these,  and  so  Yankele"  finished 

W«  i«   his  meal    in   the   unquestion- 
\    able  status  of  a  first-class  guest. 
The  Rabbi  was  by  this   time 
sufficiently   recovered   to    toy 

«  PRUNES   AND    PIPPINS."  ^  tW°  P1^^   \  *    ™*** 

choly  silence  which  he  did  not 
break  till  his  mouth  opened  involuntarily  to  intone  the  grace. 

When  grace  was  over  he  turned  to  Manasseh  and  said, 
"  And  what  was  this  way  you  were  suggesting  to  me  of 
getting  a  profitable  Sephardic  connection?" 

"  I  did,  indeed,  wonder  why  you  did  not  extend  your 
practice  as  consolation  preacher  among  the  Spanish  Jews," 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  99 

replied  Manasseh  gravely.  "  But  after  what  we  have  just 
heard  of  the  death-rate  of  Jews  in  Grodno,  I  should  seri- 
ously advise  you  to  go  back  there." 

"  No,  they  cannot  forget  that  I  was  once  a  boy,"  replied 
the  Rabbi  with  equal  gravity.  "  I  prefer  the  Spanish  Jews. 
They  are  all  well-to-do.  They  may  not  die  so  often  as  the 
Russians,  but  they  die  better,  so  to  speak.  You  will  give 
me  introductions,  you  will  speak  of  me  to  your  illustrious 
friends,  I  understand." 

"  You  understand  !  "  repeated  Manasseh  in  dignified  as- 
tonishment. "  You  do  not  understand.  I  shall  do  no  such 
thing." 

"  But  you  yourself  suggested  it ! "  cried  the  Rabbi  ex- 
citedly. 

"I?  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  had  heard  of  you  and 
your  ministrations  to  mourners,  and  meeting  you  in  the 
street  this  afternoon  for  the  first  time,  it  struck  me  to 
enqtfire  why  you  did  not  carry  your  consolations  into  the 
bosom  of  my  community  where  so  much  more  money  is  to 
be  made.  I  said  I  wondered  you  had  not  done  so  from 
the  first.  And  you  —  invited  me  to  dinner.  I  still  wonder. 
That  is  all,  my  good  man."  He  rose  to  go. 

The  haughty  rebuke  silenced  the  Rabbi,  though  his  heart 
was  hot  with  a  vague  sense  of  injury. 

"  Do  you  come  my  way,  Yankele"  ?  "  said  Manasseh  care- 
lessly. 

The  Rabbi  turned  hastily  to  his  second  guest. 

"  When  do  you  want  me  to  marry  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  have  married  me,"  replied  Yankele. 

"  I  ?  "  gasped  the  Rabbi.     It  was  the  last  straw. 

"  Yes,"  reiterated  Yankele.     "  Hasn't  he,  Mr.  da  Costa  ?  " 

His  heart  went  pit-a-pat  as  he  put  the  question. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Manasseh  without  hesitation. 


100  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

Yankee's  face  was  made  glorious  summer.  Only  two  of 
the  quartette  knew  the  secret  of  his  radiance. 

"  There,  Rabbi,"  he  cried  exultantly.    "  Good  Sabbath  !  " 

"  Good  Sabbath  !  "  added  Manasseh. 

"  Good  Sabbath,"  dazedly  murmured  the  Rabbi. 

"  Good  Sabbath,"  added  his  wife. 

"  Congratulate  me  ! "  cried  Yankete  when  they  got  out- 
side. 

"  On  what?  "  asked  Manasseh. 

"  On  being  your  future  son-in-law,  of  course." 

"Oh,  on  that?  Certainly,  I  congratulate  you  most 
heartily."  The  two  Schnorrers  shook  hands.  "  I  thought 
you  were  asking  for  compliments  on  your  manoeuvring." 

"  Vy,  doesn't  it  deserve  dem?" 

"  No,"  said  Manasseh  magisterially. 

"  No  ?  "  queried  Yankel6,  his  heart  sinking  again.  "  Vy 
not?" 

"  Why  did  you  kill  so  many  people  ?  " 

"  Somebody  must  die  dat  I  may  live." 

"You  said  that  before,"  said  Manasseh  severely.  "A 
good  Schnorrer  would  not  have  slaughtered  so  many  for  his 
dinner.  It  is  a  waste  of  good  material.  And  then  you  told 
lies  !  " 

"How  do  you  know  they  are  not  dead?"  pleaded  Yan- 
kele\ 

The  King  shook  his  head  reprovingly.  "  A  first-class 
Schnorrer  never  lies,"  he  laid  it  down. 

"  I  might  have  made  truth  go  as  far  as  a  lie  —  if  you 
hadn't  come  to  dinner  yourself." 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ?  Why,  I  came  to  encourage  you 
by  showing  you  how  easy  your  task  was." 

"  On  de  contrary,  you  made  it  much  harder  for  me.  Dere 
vas  no  dinner  left." 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  101 

"  But  against  that  you  must  reckon  that  since  the  Rabbi 
had  already  invited  one  person,  he  couldn't  be  so  hard  to 
tackle  as  I  had  fancied." 

"Oh,  but  you  must  not  judge  from  yourself,"  protested 
Yankele".  "You  be  not  a  Schnorrer — you  be  a  miracle." 

"  But  I  should  like  a  miracle  for  my  son-in-law  also," 
grumbled  the  King. 

"  And  if  you  had  to  schnorr  a  son-in-law,  you  vould  get  a 
miracle,"  said  Yankele  soothingly.  "  As  he  has  to  schnorr 
you,  he  gets  the  miracle." 

"  True,"  observed  Manasseh  musingly,  "  and  I  think  you 
might  therefore  be  very  well  content  without  the  dowry." 

"  So  I  might,"  admitted  Yankele,  "  only  you  vould  not  be 
content  to  break  your  promise.  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
some  of  de  dowry  on  de  marriage  morning." 

"  On  that  morning  you  shall  get  my  daughter  —  without 
fail.  Surely  that  will  be  enough  for  one  day  !  " 

"  Veil,  ven  do  I  get  de  money  your  daughter  gets  from  de 
Synagogue  ?  " 

"  When  she  gets  it  from  the  Synagogue,  of  course." 

"  How  much  vill  it  be  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  said  Manasseh 
pompously. 

Yankee's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  And  it  may  be  less,"  added  Manasseh  as  an  after- thought. 

"  How  much  less?"  enquired  Yankel6  anxiously. 

"  A  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  repeated  Manasseh  pom- 
pously. 

"  D'you  mean  to  say  I  may  get  noting?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  she  gets  nothing.  What  I  promised  you 
was  the  money  she  gets  from  the  Synagogue.  Should  she 
be  fortunate  enough  in  the  sorteo  —  " 

"  De  sorteo .'    Vat  is  dat  ?  " 


102  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  The  dowry  I  told  you  of.  It  is  accorded  by  lot.  My 
daughter  has  as  good  a  chance  as  any  other  maiden.  By 
winning  her  you  stand  to  win  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds. 
It  is  a  handsome  amount.  There  are  not  many  fathers  who 
would  do  as  much  for  their  daughters,"  concluded  Manasseh 
with  conscious  magnanimity. 

"  But  about  de  Jerusalem  estate  !  "  said  Yankele,  shifting 
his  standpoint.  "  I  don't  vant  to  go  and  live  dere.  De 
Messiah  is  not  yet  come." 

"No,  you  will  hardly  be  able  to  live  on  it,"  admitted 
Manasseh. 

"  You  do  not  object  to  my  selling  it,  den?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  If  you  are  so  sordid,  if  you  have  no  true 
Jewish  sentiment ! " 

"  Ven  can  I  come  into  possession  ?  " 

"On  the  wedding  day  if  you  like." 

"  One  may  as  veil  get  it  over,"  said  Yankele,  suppressing 
a  desire  to  rub  his  hands  in  glee.  "  As  de  Talmud  says, 
'  One  peppercorn  to-day  is  better  dan  a  basketful  of  pump- 
kins to-morrow.' " 

"  All  right !  I  will  bring  it  to  the  Synagogue." 

"  Bring  it  to  de  Synagogue ! "  repeated  Yankele  in 
amaze.  "  Oh,  you  mean  de  deed  of  transfer." 

"  The  deed  of  transfer  !  Do  you  think  I  waste  my  sub- 
stance on  solicitors?  No,  I  will  bring  the  property  itself." 

"  But  how  can  you  do  dat  ?  " 

"Where  is  the  difficulty?"  demanded  Manasseh  with 
withering  contempt.  "  Surely  a  child  could  carry  a  casket 
of  Jerusalem  earth  to  Synagogue  !  " 

"  A  casket  of  earth  !  Is  your  property  in  Jerusalem  only 
a  casket  of  earth?" 

"  What  then  ?  You  didn't  expect  it  would  be  a  casket 
of  diamonds?"  retorted  Manasseh,  with  gathering  wrath. 


THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS.  103 

"  To  a  true  Jew  a  casket  of  Jerusalem  earth  is  worth  all  the 
diamonds  in  the  world." 

"  But  your  Jerusalem  property  is  a  fraud ! "  gasped 
Yankete. 

"Oh,  no,  you  may  be  easy  on  that  point.  It's  quite 
genuine.  I  know  there  is  a  good  deal  of  spurious  Palestine 
earth  in  circulation,  and  that  many  a  dead  man  who  has 
clods  of  it  thrown  into  his  tomb  is  nevertheless  buried  in 
unholy  soil.  But  this  casket  I  was  careful  to  obtain  from 
a  Rabbi  of  extreme  sanctity.  It  was  the  only  thing  he  had 
worth  schnorring." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  get  more  dan  a  crown  for  it," 
said  Yankete,  with  irrepressible  indignation. 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  returned  Manasseh ;  "  and  never 
did  I  think  a  son-in-law  of  mine  would  meditate  selling  my 
holy  soil  for  a  paltry  five  shillings  !  I  will  not  withdraw  my 
promise,  but  I  am  disappointed  in  you  —  bitterly  disap- 
pointed. Had  I  known  this  earth  was  not  to  cover  your 
bones,  it  should  have  gone  down  to  the  grave  with  me,  as 
enjoined  in  my  last  will  and  testament,  by  the  side  of  which 
it  stands  in  my  safe." 

"  Very  veil,  I  von't  sell  it,"  said  Yankele"  sulkily. 

"  You  relieve  my  soul.  As  the  Mishnah  says,  '  He  who 
marries  a  wife  for  money  begets  froward  children.'  " 

"  And  vat  about  de  province  in  England  ?  "  asked  Yankele", 
in  low,  despondent  tones.  He  had  never  believed  in 
that,  but  now,  behind  all  his  despair  and  incredulity,  was 
a  vague  hope  that  something  might  yet  be  saved  from  the 
crash. 

"Oh,  you  shall  cho6se  your  own,"  replied  Manasseh 
graciously.  "  We  will  get  a  large  map  of  London,  and  I  will 
mark  off  in  red  pencil  the  domain  in  which  I  schnorr.  You 
will  then  choose  any  district  in  this  —  say,  two  main  streets 


104 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


and  a  dozen  byways  and  alleys  —  which  shall  be  marked  off  in 
blue  pencil,  and  whatever  province  of  my  kingdom  you  pick, 
I  undertake  not  to  schnorr  in,  from  your  wedding-day  on- 
wards. I  need  not 
tell  you  how  valu- 
able such  a  prov- 
ince already  is ; 
under  careful  ad- 
ministration, such 
as  you  would  be 
able  to  give  it,  the 
revenue  from  it 
might  be  doubled, 
trebled.  I  do  not 
think  your  tribute 
to  me  need  be 
more  than  ten  per 
cent." 

Yankele  walked 
along  mesmerised, 
reduced  to  som- 
nambulism by  his 
magnificently  mas- 
terful patron. 

"Oh,   here   we 
are  !  "    said    Ma- 
nasseh,  stopping 
short.  "  Won't  you 
come  in  and  see  the  bride,  and  wish  her  joy?  " 

A  flash  of  joy  came  into  Yankee's  own  face,  dissipating 
his  glooms.  After  all  there  was  always  da  Costa's  beautiful 
daughter  —  a  solid,  substantial  satisfaction.  He  was  glad 
she  was  not  an  item  of  the  dowry. 


'  THE  UNCONSCIOUS  BRIDE  OPENED  THE  DOOR.' 


THE   KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  106 

The  unconscious  bride  opened  the  door. 

"Ah,  ha,  Yankele1  ! "  said  Manasseh,  his  paternal  heart 
aglow  at  the  sight  of  her  loveliness.  "  You  will  be  not  only 
a  king,  but  a  rich  king.  As  it  is  written,  '  Who  is  rich  ? 
He  who  hath  a  beautiful  wife.' " 


CHAPTER  V. 

SHOWING    HOW   THE   KING   DISSOLVED   THE   MAHAMAD. 

MANASSEH  DA  COSTA  (thus  docked  of  his  nominal  pleni- 
tude in  the  solemn  writ)  had  been  summoned  before  the 
Mahama'd,  the  intended  union  of  his  daughter  with  a  Polish 
Jew  having  excited  the  liveliest  horror  and  displeasure  in  the 
breasts  of  the  Elders  of  the  Synagogue.  Such  a  Jew  did 
not  pronounce  Hebrew  as  they  did  ! 

The  Mahamad  was  a  Council  of  Five,  no  less  dread  than 
the  more  notorious  Council  of  Ten.  Like  the  Venetian 
Tribunal,  which  has  unjustly  monopolised  the  attention  of 
history,  it  was  of  annual  election,  and  it  was  elected  by  a 
larger  body  of  Elders,  just  as  the  Council  of  Ten  was  chosen 
by  the  aristocracy.  "  The  gentlemen  of  the  Mahamad,"  as 
they  were  styled,  administered  the  affairs  of  the  Spanish- 
Portuguese  community,  and  their  oligarchy  would  undoubt- 
edly be  a  byword  for  all  that  is  arbitrary  and  inquisitorial 
but  for  the  widespread  ignorance  of  its  existence.  To  itself 
the  Mahamad  was  the  centre  of  creation.  On  one  occasion 
it  refused  to  bow  even  to  the  authority  of  the  Lord  Mayor 
of  London.  A  Sephardic  Jew  lived  and  moved  and  had  his 
being  "  by  permission  of  the  Mahamad."  Without  its  con- 
sent he  could  have  no  legitimate  place  in  the  scheme  of 
things.  Minus  "  the  permission  of  the  Mahamad  "  he  could 


106 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


not  marry  ;  with  it  he  could  be  divorced  readily.  He  might, 
indeed,  die  without  the  sanction  of  the  Council  of  Five,  but 
this  was  the  only  great  act  of  his  life  which  was  free  from  its 
surveillance,  and  he  could  certainly  not  be  buried  save  "  by 
permission  of  the  Mahamad."  The  Haham  himself,  the 


"THE   ELDERS  OF  THE  SYNAGOGUE." 

Sage  or  Chief  Rabbi  of  the  congregation,  could  not  unite 
his  flock  in  holy  wedlock  without  the  "  permission  of  the 
Mahamad."  And  this  authority  was  not  merely  negative 
and  passive,  it  was  likewise  positive  and  active.  To  be  a 
Yahid  —  a  recognised  congregant  —  one  had  to  submit  one's 
neck  to  a  yoke  more  galling  even  than  that  of  the  Torah,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  payment  of  Finta,  or  poll-tax.  Woe  to 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  107 

him  who  refused  to  be  Warden  of  the  Captives  —  he  who 
ransomed  the  chained  hostages  of  the  Moorish  Corsairs,  or 
the  war  prisoners  held  in  durance  by  the  Turks  —  or  to  be 
President  of  the  Congregation,  or  Parnass  of  the  Holy 
Land,  or  Bridegroom  of  the  Law,  or  any  of  the  numerous 
dignitaries  of  a  complex  constitution.  Fines,  frequent  and 
heavy  —  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor-box  —  awaited  him 
"  by  permission  of  the  Mahamad."  Unhappy  the  wight  who 
misconducted  himself  in  Synagogue  "  by  offending  the  presi- 
dent, or  grossly  insulting  any  other  person,"  as  the  ordi- 
nance deliciously  ran.  Penalties,  stringent  and  harrying, 
visited  these  and  other  offences  —  deprivation  of  the  "  good 
deeds,"  of  swathing  the  Holy  Scroll,  or  opening  the  Ark; 
ignominious  relegation  to  seats  behind  the  reading-desk, 
withdrawal  of  the  franchise,  prohibition  against  shaving  for 
a  term  of  weeks  !  And  if,  accepting  office,  the  Yahid 
failed  in  the  punctual  and  regular  discharge  of  his  duties, 
he  was  mulcted  and  chastised  none  the  less.  A  fine  of  forty 
pounds  drove  from  the  Synagogue  Isaac  Disraeli,  collector 
of  Curiosities  of  Literature,  and  made  possible  that  curiosity 
of  politics,  the  career  of  Lord  Beaconsfield.  The  fathers  of 
the  Synagogue,  who  drew  up  their  constitution  in  pure 
Castilian  in  the  days  when  Pepys  noted  the  indecorum  in 
their  little  Synagogue  in  King  Street,  meant  their  statutes  to 
cement,  not  thus  to  disintegrate,  the  community.  'Twas  a 
tactless  tyranny,  this  of  the  Mahamad,  an  inelastic  adminis- 
tration of  a  cast-iron  codex  wrought  "  in  good  King  Charles's 
golden  days,"  when  the  colony  of  Dutch-Spanish  exiles  was 
as  a  camp  in  enemies'  country,  in  need  of  military  regime; 
and  it  co-operated  with  the  attractions  of  an  unhampered 
"  Christian  "  career  in  driving  many  a  brilliant  family  beyond 
the  gates  of  the  Ghetto,  and  into  the  pages  of  Debrett. 
Athens  is  always  a  dangerous  rival  to  Sparta. 


108  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

But  the  Mahamad  itself  moved  strictly  in  the  grooves  of 
prescription.  That  legalistic  instinct  of  the  Hebrew,  which 
had  evolved  the  most  gigantic  and  minute  code  of  conduct 
in  the  world,  had  beguiled  these  latter-day  Jews  into  super- 
adding  to  it  a  local  legislation  that  grew  into  two  hundred 
pages  of  Portuguese  —  an  intertangled  network  of  Ascamot 
or  regulations,  providing  for  every  contingency  of  Synagogue 
politics,  from  the  quarrels  of  members  for  the  best  seats 
down  to  the  dimensions  of  their  graves  in  the  Carreira, 
from  the  distribution  of  "  good  deeds  "  among  the  rich  to 
the  distribution  of  Passover  Cakes  among  the  poor.  If  the 
wheels  and  pulleys  of  the  communal  life  moved  "  by  per- 
mission of  the  Mahamad,"  the  Mahamad  moved  by  permis- 
sion of  the  Ascamot. 

The  Solemn  Council  was  met —  "in  complete  Mahamad." 
Even  the  Chief  of  the  Elders  was  present,  by  virtue  of  his 
privilege,  making  a  sixth ;  not  to  count  the  Chancellor  or 
Secretary,  who  sat  flutteringly  fingering  the  Portuguese  Min- 
ute Book  on  the  right  of  the  President.  He  was  a  little 
man,  an  odd  medley  of  pomp  and  bluster,  with  a  snuff- 
smeared  upper  lip,  and  a  nose  that  had  dipped  in  the  wine 
when  it  was  red.  He  had  a  grandiose  sense  of  his  own 
importance,  but  it  was  a  pride  that  had  its  roots  in  humility, 
for  he  felt  himself  great  because  he  was  the  servant  of 
greatness.  He  lived  "  by  permission  of  the  Mahamad."  As 
an  official  he  was  theoretically  inaccessible.  If  you  ap- 
proached him  on  a  matter  he  would  put  out  his  palms 
deprecatingly  and  pant,  "  I  must  consult  the  Mahamad." 
It  was  said  of  him  that  he  had  once  been  asked  the  time, 
and  that  he  had  automatically  panted,  "  I  must  consult  the 
Mahamad."  This  consultation  was  the  merest  form ;  in 
practice  the  Secretary  had  more  influence  than  the  Chief 
Rabbi,  who  was  not  allowed  to  recommend  an  applicant  for 


THE   KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


109 


charity,  for  the  quaint  reason  that  the  respect  entertained 
for  him  might  unduly  prejudice  the  Council  in  favour  of  his 
candidate.  As  no  gentleman  of  the  Mahamad  could  pos- 
sibly master  the  statutes  in  his  year  of  office,  especially  as 
only  a  rare  member 
understood  the  Por- 
tuguese in  which  they 
had  been  ultimately 
couched,  the  Secre- 
tary was  invariably  re- 
ferred to,  for  he  was 
permanent,  full  of 
saws  and  precedents, 
and  so  he  interpreted 
the  law  with  impar- 
tial inaccuracy — "  by 
permission  of  the  Ma- 
hamad." In  his  heart 
of  hearts  he  believed 
that  the  sun  rose  and 
the  rain  fell  —  "  by 
permission  of  the  Ma- 
hamad." 

The  Council  Cham- 
ber was  of  goodly 
proportions,  and  was 
decorated  by  gold  let- 
tered panels,  inscribed 
with  the  names  of  pious  donors,  thick  as  saints  in  a  graveyard, 
overflowing  even  into  the  lobby.  The  flower  and  chivalry 
of  the  Spanish  Jewry  had  sat  round  that  Council-table, 
grandees  who  had  plumed  and  ruffled  it  with  the  bloods  of 
their  day,  clanking  their  swords  with  the  best,  punctilious 


'THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE   MAHAMAD." 


110  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  ' 

withal  and  ceremonious,  with  the  stately  Castilian  courtesy 
still  preserved  by  the  men  who  were  met  this  afternoon,  to 
whom  their  memory  was  as  faint  as  the  fading  records  of  the 
panels.  These  descendants  of  theirs  had  still  elaborate  salu- 
tations and  circumlocutions,  and  austere  dignities  of  debate. 
"  God-fearing  men  of  capacity  and  respectability,"  as  the 
Ascama  demanded,  they  were  also  men  of  money,  and  it 
gave  them  a  port  and  a  repose.  His  Britannic  Majesty 
graced  the  throne  no  better  than  the  President  of  the 
Mahamad,  seated  at  the  head  of  the  long  table  in  his  alcoved 
arm-chair,  with  the  Chief  of  the  Elders  on  his  left,  and  the 
Chancellor  on  his  right,  and  his  Councillors  all  about  him. 
The  westering  sun  sent  a  pencil  of  golden  light  through  the 
Norman  windows  as  if  anxious  to  record  the  names  of  those 
present  in  gilt  letters — "by  permission  of  the  Mahamad." 

"  Let  da  Costa  enter,"  said  the  President,  when  the 
agenda  demanded  the  great  Schnorrer's  presence. 

The  Chancellor  fluttered  to  his  feet,  fussily  threw  open 
the  door,  and  beckoned  vacancy  with  his  finger  till  he 
discovered  Manasseh  was  not  in  the  lobby.  The  beadle 
came  hurrying  up  instead. 

"  Where  is  da  Costa?  "  panted  the  Chancellor.  "  Call  da 
Costa." 

"  Da  Costa ! "  sonorously  intoned  the  beadle  with  the 
long-drawn  accent  of  court  ushers. 

The  corridor  rang  hollow,  empty  of  Manasseh.  "  Why,  he 
was  here  a  moment  ago,"  cried  the  bewildered  beadle.  He 
ran  down  the  passage,  and  found  him  sure  enough  at  the  end 
of  it  where  it  abutted  on  the  street.  The  King  of  Schnorrers 
was  in  dignified  converse  with  a  person  of  consideration. 

"  Da  Costa  ! "  the  beadle  cried  again,  but  his  tone  was 
less  awesome  and  more  tetchy.  The  beggar  did  not  turn 
his  head. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


Ill 


"  Mr.  da  Costa,"  said  the  beadle,  now  arrived  too  near 
the  imposing  figure  to  venture  on  familiarities  with  it.  This 
time  the  beggar  gave  indications  of  restored  hearing.  "Yes, 
my  man,"  he  said,  turning  and  advancing  a  few  paces 
to  meet  the  envoy. 
" Don't  go,  Grob- 
stock,"  he  called 
over  his  shoulder. 

"  Didn't  you  hear 
me  calling?"  grum- 
bled the  beadle. 

"  I  heard  you  call- 
ing da  Costa,  but  I 
naturally  imagined 
it  was  one  of  your 
drinking  compan- 
ions," replied  Ma- 
nasseh  severely. 

"The  Mahamad 
is  waiting  for  you," 
faltered  the  beadle. 

"Tell  the  gentle- 
men of  the  Maha- 
mad," said  Manas- 
seh,  with  reproving 
emphasis,  "  that  I 
shall  do  myself  the 
pleasure  of  being 
with  them  presently. 

Nay,  pray  don't  hurry  away,  my  dear  Grobstock,"  he  went 
on,  resuming  his  place  at  the  German  magnate's  side  —  "  and 
so  your  wife  is  taking  the  waters  at  Tunbridge  Wells.  In 
faith,  'tis  an  excellent  regimen  for  the  vapours.  I  am  think- 


;  BECKONED    WITH    HIS    FINGE.R. 


112  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

ing  of  sending  my  wife  to  Buxton — the  warden  of  our  hos- 
pital has  his  country-seat  there." 

"But  you  are  wanted,"  murmured  Grobstock,  who  was 
anxious  to  escape.  He  had  caught  the  Schnorrer's  eye  as 
its  owner  sunned  himself  in  the  archway,  and  it  held  him. 

"  'Tis  only  a  meeting  of  the  Mahamad  I  have  to  attend," 
he  said  indifferently.  "  Rather  a  nuisance  —  but  duty  is 
duty." 

Grobstock's  red  face  became  a  setting  for  two  expanded 
eyes. 

"  I  thought  the  Mahamad  was  your  chief  Council,"  he 
exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  there  are  only  five  of  us,"  said  Manasseh  lightly, 
and,  while  Grobstock  gaped  incredulous,  the  Chancellor 
himself  shambled  up  in  pale  consternation. 

"  You  are  keeping  the  gentlemen  of  the  Mahamad  wait- 
ing," he  panted  imperiously. 

"Ah,  you  are  right,  Grobstock,"  said  Manasseh  with  a 
sigh  of  resignation.  "They  cannot  get  on  without  me. 
Well,  you  will  excuse  me,  I  know.  I  am  glad  to  have  seen 
you  again  —  we  shall  finish  our  chat  at  your  house  some 
evening,  shall  we?  I  have  agreeable  recollections  of  your 
hospitality." 

"  My  wife  will  be  away  all  this  month,"  Grobstock  re- 
peated feebly. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Manasseh  roguishly.  "  Thank 
you  for  the  reminder.  I  shall  not  fail  to  aid  you  in  taking 
advantage  of  her  absence.  Perhaps  mine  will  be  away,  too 
—  at  Buxton.  Two  bachelors,  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  and,  proffer- 
ing his  hand,  he  shook  Grobstock's  in  gracious  farewell. 
Then  he  sauntered  leisurely  in  the  wake  of  the  feverishly 
impatient  Chancellor,  his  staff  tapping  the  stones  in  meas- 
ured tardiness. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


113 


"  Good  afternoon,  gentlemen,"  he  observed  affably  as  he 
entered  the  Council  Chamber. 

"  You  have  kept  us  waiting,"  sharply  rejoined  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Mahamad,  ruffled  out  of  his  regal  suavity.     He 
was  a  puffy,  swarthy 
personage,  elegant- 
ly attired,   and   he 
leaned  forward  on 
his  velvet   throne, 
tattooing     on    the 
table   with    bedia- 
monded  fingers. 

"  Not  so  long  as  you 
have  kept  me  waiting," 
said  Manasseh  with 
quiet  resentment.  "  If 
I  had  known  you  ex- 
pected me  to  cool  my 
heels  in  the  corridor  I 
should  not  have  come, 
and,  had  not  my  friend 
the  Treasurer  of  the 
Great  Synagogue  op- 
portunely turned  up  to 
chat  with  me,  I  should 
not  have  stayed." 

"You  are  imperti- 
nent, sir,"  growled  the 
President. 

"  I  think,  sir,  it  is  you  who  owe  me  an  apology,"  main- 
tained Manasseh  unflinchingly,  "and,  knowing  the  courtesy 
and  high  breeding  which  has  always  distinguished  your  noble 
family,  I  can  only  explain  your  present  tone  by  your  being 


HA!    HA!    HA!'   LAUGHED   MANASSEH." 


114  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

unaware  I  have  a  grievance.  No  doubt  it  is  your  Chancellor 
who  cited  me  to  appear  at  too  early  an  hour." 

The  President,  cooled  by  the  quiet  dignity  of  the  beggar, 
turned  a  questioning  glance  upon  the  outraged  Chancellor, 
who  was  crimson  and  quivering  with  confusion  and  indig- 
nation. 

"  It  is  usual  t-t-to  summon  persons  before  the  c-c-com- 
mencement  of  the  meeting,"  he  stammered  hotly.  "  We 
cannot  tell  how  long  the  prior  business  will  take." 

"Then  I  would  respectfully  submit  to  the  Chief  of  the 
Elders."  said  Manasseh,  "that  at  the  next  meeting  of  his 
august  body  he  move  a  resolution  that  persons  cited  to  ap- 
pear before  the  Mahamad  shall  take  precedence  of  all  other 
business." 

The  Chief  of  the  Elders  looked  helplessly  at  the  President 
of  the  Mahamad,  who  was  equally  at  sea.  "  However,  I  will 
not  press  that  point  now,"  added  Manasseh,  "  nor  will  I 
draw  the  attention  of  the  committee  to  the  careless,  per- 
functory manner  in  which  the  document  summoning  me  was 
drawn  up,  so  that,  had  I  been  a  stickler  for  accuracy,  I  need 
not  have  answered  to  the  name  of  Manasseh  da  Costa." 

"  But  that  is  your  name,"  protested  the  Chancellor. 

"  If  you  will  examine  the  Charity  List,"  said  Manasseh 
magnificently,  "you  will  see  that  my  name  is  Manasseh 
Bueno  Barzillai  Azevedo  da  Costa.  But  you  are  keeping  the 
gentlemen  of  the  Mahamad  waiting."  And  with  a  magnani- 
mous air  of  dismissing  the  past,  he  seated  himself  on  the 
nearest  empty  chair  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  leaned  his 
elbows  on  the  table,  and  his  face  on  his  hands,  and  gazed 
across  at  the  President  immediately  opposite.  The  Coun- 
cillors were  so  taken  aback  by  his  unexpected  bearing  that 
this  additional  audacity  was  scarcely  noted.  But  the  Chan- 
cellor, wounded  in  his  inmost  instincts,  exclaimed  irately, 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  115 

"  Stand  up,  sir.  These  chairs  are  for  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Mahamad." 

"  And  being  gentlemen,"  added  Manasseh  crushingly, 
"  they  know  better  than  to  keep  an  old  man  on  his  legs  any 
longer." 

"  If  you  were  a  gentleman,"  retorted  the  Chancellor, 
"  you  would  take  that  thing  off  your  head." 

"  If  you  were  not  a  Man-of-the-Earth,"  rejoined  the 
beggar,  "  you  would  know  that  it  is  not  a  mark  of  disrespect 
for  the  Mahamad,  but  of  respect  for  the  Law,  which  is  higher 
than  the  Mahamad.  The  rich  man  can  afford  to  neglect 
our  holy  religion,  but  the  poor  man  has  only  the  Law.  It 
is  his  sole  luxury." 

The  pathetic  tremor  in  his  voice  stirred  a  confused  sense 
of  wrong-doing  and  injustice  in  the  Councillors'  breasts. 
The  President  felt  vaguely  that  the  edge  of  his  coming 
impressive  rebuke  had  been  turned,  if,  indeed,  he  did  not 
sit  rebuked  instead.  Irritated,  he  turned  on  the  Chancellor, 
and  bade  him  hold  his  peace. 

"  He  means  well,"  said  Manasseh  deprecatingly.  "  He 
cannot  be  expected  to  have  the  fine  instincts  of  the  gentle- 
men of  the  Mahamad.  May  I  ask  you,  sir,"  he  concluded, 
"  to  proceed  with  the  business  for  which  you  have  sum- 
moned me?  I  have  several  appointments  to  keep  with 
clients." 

The  President's  bediamonded  fingers  recommenced  their 
ill-tempered  tattoo;  he  was  fuming  inwardly  with  a  sense 
of  baffled  wrath,  of  righteous  indignation  made  unrighteous. 
"  Is  it  true,  sir,"  he  burst  forth  at  last  in  the  most  terrible 
accents  he  could  command  in  the  circumstances,  "  that  you 
meditate  giving  your  daughter  in  marriage  to  a  Polish 
Jew?" 

"  No,"  replied  Manasseh  curtly. 


116  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"No?"  articulated  the  President,  while  a  murmur  of 
astonishment '  went  round  the  table  at  this  unexpected 
collapse  of  the  whole  case. 

"Why,  your  daughter  admitted  it  to  my  wife,"  said  the 
Councillor  on  Manasseh's  right. 

Manasseh  turned  to  him,  expostulant,  tilting  his  chair 
and  body  towards  him.  "My  daughter  is  going  to  marry 
a  Polish  Jew,"  he  explained  with  argumentative  forefinger, 
"  but  I  do  not  meditate  giving  her  to  him." 

"  Oh,  then,  you  will  refuse  your  consent,"  said  the  Coun- 
cillor, hitching  his  chair  back  so  as  to  escape  the  beggar's 
progressive  propinquity.  "  By  no  means,"  quoth  Manasseh 
in  surprised  accents,  as  he  drew  his  chair  nearer  again, 
"  I  have  already  consented.  I  do  not  meditate  consenting. 
That  word  argues  an  inconclusive  attitude." 

"  None  of  your  quibbles,  sirrah,"  cried  the  President, 
while  a  scarlet  flush  mantled  on  his  dark  countenance. 
"  Do  you  not  know  that  the  union  you  contemplate  is  dis- 
graceful and  degrading  to  you,  to  your  daughter,  and  to 
the  community  which  has  done  so  much  for  you  ?  What ! 
A  Sephardi  marry  a  Tedesco  !  Shameful." 

"  And  do  you  think  I  do  not  feel  the  shame  as  deeply  as 
you?"  enquired  Manasseh,  with  infinite  pathos.  "Do  you 
think,  gentlemen,  that  I  have  not  suffered  from  this  passion 
of  a  Tedesco  for  my  daughter?  I  came  here  expecting 
your  sympathy,  and  do  you  offer  me  reproach?  Perhaps 
you  think,  sir"  —  here  he  turned  again  to  his  right-hand 
neighbour,  who,  in  his  anxiety  to  evade  his  pertinacious 
proximity,  had  half-wheeled  his  chair  round,  offering  only 
his  back  to  the  argumentative  forefinger  —  "perhaps  you 
think,  because  I  have  consented,  that  I  cannot  condole 
with  you,  that  I  am  not  at  one  with  you  in  lamenting  this 
blot  on  our  common  'scutcheon;  perhaps  you  think"  — 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  117 

here  he  adroitly  twisted  his  chair  into  argumentative  posi- 
tion on  the  other  side  of  the  Councillor,  rounding  him  like 
a  cape  —  "  that,  because  you  have  no  sympathy  with  my 
tribulation,  I  have  no  sympathy  with  yours.  But,  if  I  have 
consented,  it  is  only  because  it  was  the  best  I  could  do 
for  my  daughter.  In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  have  repudi- 
ated her,  so  that  she  may  practically  be  considered  an 
orphan,  and,  as  such,  a  fit  person  to  receive  the  marriage 
dowry  bequeathed  by  Rodriguez  Real,  peace  be  upon 
him." 

"This  is  no  laughing  matter,  sir,"  thundered  the  Presi- 
dent, stung  into  forgetfulness  of  his  dignity  by  thinking  too 
much  of  it. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Manasseh  sympathetically,  wheeling  to 
the  right  so  as  to  confront  the  President,  who  went  on 
stormily,  "  Are  you  aware,  sir,  of  the  penalties  you  risk  by 
persisting  in  your  course  ?  " 

"  I  risk  no  penalties,"  replied  the  beggar. 

"  Indeed  !  Then  do  you  think  anyone  may  trample  with 
impunity  upon  our  ancient  Ascamot?  " 

"Our  ancient  Ascamot. f"  repeated  Manasseh  in  surprise. 
"What  have  they  to  say  against  a  Sephardi  marrying  a 
Tedesco?" 

The  audacity  of  the  question  rendered  the  Council 
breathless.  Manasseh  had  to  answer  it  himself. 

"They  have  nothing  to  say.  There  is  no  such  Ascama" 
There  was  a  moment  of  awful  silence.  It  was  as  though  he 
had  disavowed  the  Decalogue. 

"  Do  you  question  the  first  principle  of  our  constitution?" 
said  the  President  at  last,  in  low,  ominous  tones.  "  Do  you 
deny  that  your  daughter  is  a  traitress?  Do  you  —  ?  " 

"Ask  your  Chancellor,"  calmly  interrupted  Manasseh. 
"He  is  a  Man-of-the-Earth,  but  he  should  know  your 


118  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

statutes,  and  he  will  tell  you  that  my  daughter's  conduct  is 
nowhere  forbidden." 

"  Silence,  sir,"  cried  the  President  testily.  "  Mr.  Chan- 
cellor, read  the  Ascama" 

The  Chancellor  wriggled  on  his  chair,  his  face  flushing 
and  paling  by  turns  ;  all  eyes  were  bent  upon  him  in  anxious 
suspense.  He  hemmed  and  ha'd  and  coughed,  and  took 
snuff,  and  blew  his  nose  elaborately. 

" There  is  n-n-no  express  Ascama"  he  stuttered  at  last. 
Manasseh  sat  still,  in  unpretentious  triumph. 

The  Councillor  who  was  now  become  his  right-hand 
neighbour  was  the  first  to  break  the  dazed  silence,  and  it 
was  his  first  intervention. 

"  Of  course,  it  was  never  actually  put  into  writing,"  he 
said  in  stern  reproof.  "  It  has  never  been  legislated  against, 
because  it  has  never  been  conceived  possible.  These  things 
are  an  instinct  with  every  right-minded  Sephardi.  Have 
we  ever  legislated  against  marrying  Christians?"  Manasseh 
veered  round  half  a  point  of  the  compass,  and  fixed  the 
new  opponent  with  his  argumentative  forefinger.  "Cer- 
tainly we  have,"  he  replied  unexpectedly.  "  In  Section  XX., 
Paragraph  II."  He  quoted  the  Ascama  by  heart,  rolling 
out  the  sonorous  Portuguese  like  a  solemn  indictment.  "  If 
our  legislators  had  intended  to  prohibit  intermarriage  with 
the  German  community,  they  would  have  prohibited  it." 

"  There  is  the  Traditional  Law  as  well  as  the  Written," 
said  the  Chancellor,  recovering  himself.  "  It  is  so  in  our 
holy  religion,  it  is  so  in  our  constitution." 

"  Yes,  there  are  precedents  assuredly,"  cried  the  Presi- 
dent eagerly. 

"  There  is  the  case  of  one  of  our  Treasurers  in  the  time  of 
George  II.,"  said  the  little  Chancellor,  blossoming  under  the 
sunshine  of  the  President's  encouragement,  and  naming  the 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


119 


ancestor  of  a  Duchess  of  to-day.  "  He  wanted  to  marry  a 
beautiful  German  Jewess." 

"  And  was  interdicted,"  said  the  President. 

"Hem!"  coughed  the  Chancellor.  "He  —  he  was  only 
permitted  to  marry  her  under  humiliating  conditions.  The 
Elders  forbade  the  attendance  of  the  members  of  the  House 
of  Judgment,  or  of  the  Cantors ;  no  celebration  was  to  take 
place  in  the  Snoga ;  no 
offerings  were  to  be 
made  for  the  bride- 
groom's health,  nor  was 
he  even  to  receive  the 
bridegroom's  call  to  the 
reading  of  the  Law." 

"But  the  Elders  will 
not  impose  any  such 
conditions  on  my  son- 
in-law,"  said  Manasseh, 
skirting  round  another 
chair  so  as  to  bring  his 
forefinger  to  play  upon 
the  Chief  of  the  Elders, 
on  whose  left  he  had 
now  arrived  in  his  argu- 
mentative  advances. 

"  In  the  first  place  he  is  not  one  of  us.  His  desire  to  join 
us  is  a  compliment.  If  anyone  has  offended  your  tradi- 
tions, it  is  my  daughter.  But  then  she  is  not  a  male,  like 
the  Treasurer  cited ;  she  is  not  an  active  agent,  she  has 
not  gone  out  of  her  way  to  choose  a  Tedesco  —  she  has 
been  chosen.  Your  masculine  precedents  cannot  touch 
her." 

"Ay,  but  we   can   touch   you,"   said   the  contemporary 


HEM  !  '  COUGHED  THE  CHANCELLOR." 


120  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

Treasurer,  guffawing  grimly.  He  sat  opposite  Manasseh, 
and  next  to  the  Chancellor. 

"Is  it  fines  you  are  thinking  of?"  said  Manasseh  with 
a  scornful  glance  across  the  table.  "Very  well,  fine  me 
—  if  you  can  afford  it.  You  know  that  I  am  a  student, 
a  son  of  the  Law,  who  has  no  resources  but  what  you  allow 
him.  If  you  care  to  pay  this  fine  it  is  your  affair.  There 
is  always  room  in  the  poor-box.  I  am  always  glad  to  hear 
of  fines.  You  had  better  make  up  your  mind  to  the 
inevitable,  gentlemen.  Have  I  not  had  to  do  it?  There 
is  no  Ascama  to  prevent  my  son-in-law  having  all  the  usual 
privileges  —  in  fact,  it  was  to  ask  that  he  might  receive 
the  bridegroom's  call  to  the  Law  on  the  Sabbath  before  his 
marriage  that  I  really  came.  By  Section  III.,  Paragraph 
I.,  you  are  empowered  to  admit  any  person  about  to  marry 
the  daughter  of  a  Yahid."  Again  the  sonorous  Portuguese 
rang  out,  thrilling  the  Councillors  with  all  that  quintessential 
awfulness  of  ancient  statutes  in  a  tongue  not  understood. 
It  was  not  till  a  quarter  of  a  century  later  that  the  Ascamot 
were  translated  into  English,  and  from  that  moment  their 
authority  was  doomed. 

The  Chancellor  was  the  first  to  recover  from  the  quota- 
tion. Daily  contact  with  these  archaic  sanctities  had  dulled 
his  awe,  and  the  President's  impotent  irritation  spurred 
him  to  action. 

"  But  you  are  not  a  Yahid,"  he  said  quietly.  "  By  Para- 
graph V.  of  the  same  section,  any  one  whose  name  appears 
on  the  Charity  List  ceases  to  be  a  Yahid." 

"  And  a  vastly  proper  law,"  said  Manasseh  with  irony. 
"  Everybody  may  vote  but  the  Schnorrer"  And,  ignoring 
the  Chancellor's  point  at  great  length,  he  remarked  con- 
fidentially to  the  Chief  of  the  Elders,  at  whose  elbow  he  was 
still  encamped,  "  It  is  curious  how  few  of  your  Elders 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  121 

perceive  that  those  who  take  the  charity  are  the  pillars 
of  the  Synagogue.  What  keeps  your  community  together? 
Fines.  What  ensures  respect  for  your  constitution  ?  Fines. 
What  makes  every  man  do  his  duty?  Fines.  What  rules 
this  very  Mahamad  ?  Fines.  And  it  is  the  poor  who  pro- 
vide an  outlet  for  all  these  moneys.  Egad,  do  you  think 
your  members  would  for  a  moment  tolerate  your  penalties, 
if  they  did  not  know  the  money  was  laid  out  in  'good 
deeds  '  ?  Charity  is  the  salt  of  riches,  says  the  Talmud,  and, 
indeed,  it  is  the  salt  that  preserves  your  community." 

"  Have  done,  sir,  have  done  ! "  shouted  the  President, 
losing  all  regard  for  those  grave  amenities  of  the  ancient 
Council  Chamber  which  Manasseh  did  his  best  to  maintain. 
"Do  you  forget  to  whom  you  are  talking?" 

"  I  am  talking  to  the  Chief  of  the  Elders,"  said  Manasseh 
in  a  wounded  tone,  "  but  if  you  would  like  me  to  address 
myself  to  you  — "  and  wheeling  round  the  Chief  of  the 
Elders,  he  landed  his  chair  next  to  the  President's. 

"  Silence,  fellow  ! "  thundered  the  President,  shrinking 
spasmodically  from  his  confidential  contact.  "  You  have 
no  right  to  a  voice  at  all ;  as  the  Chancellor  has  reminded 
us,  you  are  not  even  a  Yahid,  a  congregant." 

"  Then  the  laws  do  not  apply  to  me,"  retorted  the  beggar 
quietly.  "  It  is  only  the  Yahid  who  is  privileged  to  do  this, 
who  is  prohibited  from  doing  that.  No  Ascama  mentions 
the  Schnorrer,  or  gives  you  any  authority  over  him." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  the  Chancellor,  seeing  the  Presi- 
dent disconcerted  again,  "  he  is  bound  to  attend  the  week- 
day services.  But  this  man  hardly  ever  does,  sir."  "  I 
never  do,"  corrected  Manasseh,  with  touching  sadness. 
"  That  is  another  of  the  privileges  I  have  to  forego  in  order 
to  take  your  charity  ;  I  cannot  risk  appearing  to  my  Maker 
in  the  light  of  a  mercenary." 


122  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  And  what  prevents  you  taking  your  turn  in  the  grave- 
yard watches?"  sneered  the  Chancellor. 

The  antagonists  were  now  close  together,  one  on  either 
side  of  the  President  of  the  Mahamad,  who  was  wedged 
between  the  two  bobbing,  quarrelling  figures,  his  complexion 
altering  momently  for  the  blacker,  and  his  fingers  working 
nervously. 

"What  prevents  me?"  replied  Manasseh.  "  My  age.  It 
would  be  a  sin  against  heaven  to  spend  a  night  in  the 
cemetery.  If  the  body-snatchers  did  come  they  might  find 
a  corpse  to  their  hand  in  the  watch-tower.  But  I  do  my 
duty  —  I  always  pay  a  substitute." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  Treasurer.  "  I  remember  your 
asking  me  for  the  money  to  keep  an  old  man  out  of  the 
cemetery.  Now  I  see  what  you  meant." 

"Yes,"  began  two  others,  "  and  I —  " 

"Order,  gentlemen,  order,"  interrupted  the  President 
desperately,  for  the  afternoon  was  flitting,  the  sun  was  set- 
ting, and  the  shadows  of  twilight  were  falling.  "  You  must 
not  argue  with  the  man.  Hark  you,  my  fine  fellow,  we  re- 
fuse to  sanction  this  marriage ;  it  shall  not  be  performed  by 
our  ministers,  nor  can  we  dream  of  admitting  your  son-in- 
law  as  a  Yahid." 

"Then  admit  him  on  your  Charity  List,"  said  Manasseh. 

"  We  are  more  likely  to  strike  you  off !  And,  by  gad  !  " 
cried  the  President,  tattooing  on  the  table  with  his  whole  fist, 
"  if  you  don't  stop  this  scandal  instanter,  we  will  send  you 
howling." 

"Is  it  excommunication  you  threaten?"  said  Manasseh, 
rising  to  his  feet.  There  was  a  menacing  glitter  in  his  eye. 

"  This  scandal  must  be  stopped,"  repeated  the  President, 
agitatedly  rising  in  involuntary  imitation. 

"  Any  member  of  the  Mahamad  could  stop  it  in  a  twink- 


124  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

ling,"  said  Manasseh  sullenly.  "  You  yourself,  if  you  only 
chose." 

"  If  I  only  chose?"  echoed  the  President  enquiringly. 

"  If  you  only  chose  my  daughter.  Are  you  not  a  bach- 
elor? I  am  convinced  she  could  not  say  nay  to  anyone 
present  —  excepting  the  Chancellor.  Only  no  one  is  really 
willing  to  save  the  community  from  this  scandal,  and  so  my 
daughter  must  marry  as  best  she  can.  And  yet,  it  is  a 
handsome  creature  who  would  not  disgrace  even  a  house  in 
Hackney." 

Manasseh  spoke  so  seriously  that  the  President  fumed  the 
more.  "Let  her  marry  this  Pole,"  he  ranted,  "and  you 
shall  be  cut  off  from  us  in  life  and  death.  Alive,  you  shall 
worship  without  our  walls,  and  dead  you  shall  be  buried 
'  behind  the  boards.'  " 

"  For  the  poor  man  —  excommunication,"  said  Manasseh 
in  ominous  soliloquy.  "  For  the  rich  man  —  permission  to 
marry  the  Tedesco  of  his  choice." 

"Leave  the  room,  fellow,"  vociferated  the  President. 
"You  have  heard  our  ultimatum  !  " 

But  Manasseh  did  not  quail. 

"And  you  shall  hear  mine,"  he  said,  with  a  quietness  that 
was  the  more  impressive  for  the  President's  fury.  "  Do  not 
forget,  Mr.  President,  that  you  and  I  owe  allegiance  to  the 
same  brotherhood.  Do  not  forget  that  the  power  which 
made  you  can  unmake  you  at  the  next  election ;  do  not 
forget  that  if  I  have  no  vote  I  have  vast  influence ;  that 
there  is  not  a  Yahid  whom  I  do  not  visit  weekly ;  that  there 
is  not  a  Schnorrer  who  would  not  follow  me  in  my  exile. 
Do  not  forget  that  there  is  another  community  to  turn  to  — 
yes  !  that  very  Ashkenazic  community  you  contemn  —  with 
the  Treasurer  of  which  I  talked  but  just  now  ;  a  community 
that  waxes  daily  in  wealth  and  greatness  while  you  sleep  in 


THE   KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


125 


your  sloth."  His  tall  form  dominated  the  chamber,  his 
head  seemed  to  touch  the  ceiling.  The  Councillors  sat 
dazed  as  amid  a  lightning-storm. 

"Jackanapes  !  Blasphemer  !  Shameless  renegade  ! "  cried 
the  President,  choking  with  wrath.  And  being  already  on 
his  legs,  he  dashed  to  the  bell  and  tugged  at  it  madly, 
blanching  the  Chancellor's  face 
with  the  perception  of  a  lost 
opportunity. 

"  I  shall  not  leave  this  cham- 
ber till  I  choose,"  said  Manas- 
seh,  dropping  stolidly  into  the 
nearest  chair  and  folding  his 
arms. 

At  once  a  cry  of  horror  and 
consternation  rose  from  every 
throat,  every  man  leapt  threat- 
eningly to  his  feet,  and  Manas- 
seh  realised  that  he  was  throned 
on  the  alcoved  armchair  ! 

But  he  neither  blenched  nor 
budged. 

"  Nay,  keep  your  seats,  gen- 
tlemen," he  said  quietly. 

The  President,  turning  at  the  stir,  caught  sight  of  the 
Schnorrer,  staggered  and  clutched  at  the  mantel.  The 
Councillors  stood  spellbound  for  an  instant,  while  the  Chan- 
cellor's eyes  roved  wildly  round  the  walls,  as  if  expecting 
the  gold  names  to  start  from  their  panels.  The  beadle 
rushed  in,  terrified  by  the  strenuous  tintinnabulation,  looked 
instinctively  towards  the  throne  for  orders,  then  under- 
went petrifaction  on  the  threshold,  and  stared  speechless 
at  Manasseh,  what  time  the  President,  gasping  like  a  landed 


HE   DASHED   TO  THE  BELL.' 


126  THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 

cod,  vainly  strove  to  utter  the  order  for  the  beggar's  expul- 
sion. 

"  Don't  stare  at  me,  Gomez,"  Manasseh  cried  imperiously, 
"  Can't  you  see  the  President  wants  a  glass  of  water?  " 

The  beadle  darted  a  glance  at  the  President,  and,  per- 
ceiving his  condition,  rushed  out  again  to  get  the  water. 

This  was  the  last  straw.  To  see  his  authority  usurped  as 
well  as  his  seat  maddened  the  poor  President.  For  some 
seconds  he  strove  to  mouth  an  oath,  embracing  his  supine 
Councillors  as  well  as  this  beggar  on  horseback,  but  he  pro- 
duced only  an  inarticulate  raucous  cry,  and  reeled  sideways. 
Manasseh  sprang  from  his  chair  and  caught  the  falling  form 
in  his  arms.  For  one  terrible  moment  he  stood  supporting 
it  in  a  tense  silence,  broken  only  by  the  incoherent  murmurs 
of  the  unconscious  lips  ;  then  crying  angrily,  "  Bestir  your- 
selves, gentlemen,  don't  you  see  the  President  is  ill?"  he 
dragged  his  burden  towards  the  table,  and,  aided  by  the 
panic-stricken  Councillors,  laid  it  flat  thereupon,  and  threw 
open  the  ruffled  shirt.  He  swept  the  Minute  Book  to  the 
floor  with  an  almost  malicious  movement,  to  make  room  for 
the  President. 

The  beadle  returned  with  the  glass  of  water,  which  he 
well-nigh  dropped. 

"  Run  for  a  physician,"  Manasseh  commanded,  and  throw- 
ing away  the  water  carelessly,  in  the  Chancellor's  direction, 
he  asked  if  anyone  had  any  brandy.  There  was  no  response. 

"  Come,  come,  Mr.  Chancellor,"  he  said,  "  bring  out  your 
phial."  And  the  abashed  functionary  obeyed. 

"Has  any  of  you  his  equipage  without?"  Manasseh 
demanded  next  of  the  Mahamad. 

They  had  not,  so  Manasseh  despatched  the  Chief  of  the 
Elders  in  quest  of  a  sedan  chair.  Then  there  was  nothing 
left  but  to  await  the  physician. 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  127 

"You  see,  gentlemen,  how  insecure  is  earthly  power," 
said  the  Schnorrer  solemnly,  while  the  President  breathed 
stertorously,  deaf  to  his  impressive  moralising.  "  It  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  an  instant,  as  Lisbon  was  engulfed.  Cursed  are 
they  who  despise  the  poor.  How  is  the  saying  of  our  sages 
verified — 'The  house  that  opens  not  to  the  poor  opens  to 
the  physician.'  "  His  eyes  shone  with  unearthly  radiance 
in  the  gathering  gloom. 

The  cowed  assembly  wavered  before  his  words,  like  reeds 
before  the  wind,  or  conscience-stricken  kings  before  fearless 
prophets. 

When  the  physician  came  he  pronounced  that  the  Presi- 
dent had  had  a  slight  stroke  of  apoplexy,  involving  a  tempo- 
rary paralysis  of  the  right  foot.  The  patient,  by  this  time 
restored  to  consciousness,  was  conveyed  home  in  the  sedan 
chair,  and  the  Mahamad  dissolved  in  confusion.  ManasseK 
was  the  last  to  leave  the  Council  Chamber.  As  he  stalked 
into  the  corridor  he  turned  the  key  in  the  door  behind  him 
with  a  vindictive  twist.  Then,  plunging  his  hand  into  his 
breeches-pocket,  he  gave  the  beadle  a  crown,  remarking 
genially,  "You  must  have  your  usual  perquisite,  I  suppose." 

The  beadle  was  moved  to  his  depths.  He  had  a  burst  of 
irresistible  honesty.  "  The  President  gives  me  only  half-a- 
crown,"  he  murmured. 

"  Yes,  but  he  may  not  be  able  to  attend  the  next  meeting," 
said  Manasseh.  "And  I  may  be  away,  too." 


128  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

SHOWING   HOW   THE   KING   ENRICHED   THE   SYNAGOGUE. 

THE  Synagogue  of  the  Gates  of  Heaven  was  crowded 
—  members,  orphan  boys,  Schnorrers,  all  were  met  in 
celebration  of  the  Sabbath.  But  the  President  of  the 
Mahamad  was  missing.  He  was  still  inconvenienced  by 
the  effects  of  his  stroke,  and  deemed  it  most  prudent  to 
pray  at  home.  The  Council  of  Five  had  not  met  since 
Manasseh  had  dissolved  it,  and  so  the  matter  of  his  daugh- 
ter's marriage  was  left  hanging,  as  indeed  was  not  seldom 
the  posture  of  matters  discussed  by  Sephardic  bodies.  The 
authorities  thus  passive,  Manasseh  found  scant  difficulty  in 
imposing  his  will  upon  the  minor  officers,  less  ready  than 
himself  with  constitutional  precedent.  His  daughter  was  to 
be  married  under  the  Sephardic  canopy,  and  no  jot  of 
synagogual  honour  was  to  be  bated  the  bridegroom.  On 
this  Sabbath  —  the  last  before  the  wedding  —  Yankel£  was 
to  be  called  to  the  Reading  of  the  Law  like  a  true-born 
Portuguese.  He  made  his  first  appearance  in  the  Synagogue 
of  his  bride's  fathers  with  a  feeling  of  solemn  respect,  not 
exactly  due  to  Manasseh's  grandiose  references  to  the 
ancient  temple.  He  had  walked  the  courtyard  with  levity, 
half  prepared,  from  previous  experience  of  his  intended 
father-in-law,  to  find  the  glories  insubstantial.  Their  unex- 
pected actuality  awed  him,  and  he  was  glad  he  was  dressed 
in  his  best.  His  beaver  hat,  green  trousers,  and  brown  coat 
equalled  him  with  the  massive  pillars,  the  gleaming  cande- 
labra, and  the  stately  roof.  Da  Costa,  for  his  part,  had 
made  no  change  in  his  attire ;  he  dignified  his  shabby 
vestments,  stuffing  them  with  royal  manhood,  and  wearing 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  129 

his  snuff-coloured  over-garment  like  a  purple  robe.  There 
was,  in  sooth,  an  official  air  about  his  habiliment,  and  to  the 
worshippers  it  was  as  impressively  familiar  as  the  black  stole 
and  white  bands  of  the  Cantor.  It  seemed  only  natural 
that  he  should  be  called  to  the  Reading  first,  quite  apart 
from  the  fact  that  he  was  a  Cohen,  of  the  family  of  Aaron, 
the  High  Priest,  a  descent  that,  perhaps,  lent  something  to 
the  loftiness  of  his  carriage. 

When  the  Minister  intoned  vigorously,  "  The  good  name, 
Manasseh,  the  son  of  Judah,  the  Priest,  the  man,  shall  arise 
to  read  in  the  Law,"  every  eye  was  turned  with  a  new  inte.- 
est  on  the  prospective  father-in-law.  Manasseh  arose  com- 
posedly, and,  hitching  his  sliding  prayer-shawl  over  his  left 
shoulder,  stalked  to  the  reading  platform,  where  he  chanted 
the  blessings  with  imposing  flourishes,  and  stood  at  the 
Minister's  right  hand  while  his  section  of  the  Law  was  read 
from  the  sacred  scroll.  There  was  many  a  man  of  figure  in 
the  congregation,  but  none  who  became  the  platform  better. 
It  was  beautiful  to  see  him  pay  his  respects  to  the  scroll ;  it 
reminded  one  of  the  meeting  of  two  sovereigns.  The  great 
moment,  however,  was  when,  the  section  being  concluded, 
the  Master  Reader  announced  Manasseh's  donations  to  the 
Synagogue.  The  financial  statement  was  incorporated  in 
a  long  Benediction,  like  a  coin  wrapped  up  in  folds  of  paper. 
This  was  always  a  great  moment,  even  when  inconsiderable 
personalities  were  concerned,  each  man's  generosity  being 
the  subject  of  speculation  before  and  comment  after.  Ma- 
nasseh, it  was  felt,  would,  although  a  mere  Schnorrer,  rise  to 
the  height  of  the  occasion,  and  offer  as  much  as  seven  and 
sixpence.  The  shrewder  sort  suspected  he  would  split  it  up 
into  two  or  three  separate  offerings,  to  give  an  air  of  inex- 
haustible largess. 

The  shrewder  sort  were  right  and  wrong,  as  is  their  habit. 


130  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

The  Master  Reader  began  his  quaint  formula,  "  May  He 
who  blessed  our  Fathers,"  pausing  at  the  point  where  the 
Hebrew  is  blank  for  the  amount.  He  span  out  the  prefatory 
"Who  vows" — the  last  note  prolonging  itself,  like  the 
vibration  of  a  tuning-fork,  at  a  literal  pitch  of  suspense.  It 
was  a  sensational  halt,  due  to  his  forgetting  the  amounts  or 
demanding  corroboration  at  the  eleventh  hour,  and  the 
stingy  often  recklessly  amended  their  contributions,  panic- 
struck  under  the  pressure  of  imminent  publicity. 

"  Who  vows  —  "  The  congregation  hung  upon  his  lips. 
With  his  usual  gesture  of  interrogation,  he  inclined  his  ear 
towards  Manasseh's  mouth,  his  face  wearing  an  unusual  look 
of  perplexity ;  and  those  nearest  the  platform  were  aware  of 
a  little  colloquy  between  the  Schnorrer  and  the  Master 
Reader,  the  latter  bewildered  and  agitated,  the  former 
stately.  The  delay  had  discomposed  the  Master  as  much 
as  it  had  whetted  the  curiosity  of  the  congregation.  He 
repeated  : 

"Who  vows — cinco  livras"  —  he  went  on  glibly  without 
a  pause  —  "for  charity — for  the  life  of  Yankov  ben  Yitz- 
chok,  his  son-in-law,  &c.,  &c."  But  few  of  the  worshippers 
heard  any  more  than  the  cinco  livras  (five  pounds).  A 
thrill  ran  through  the  building.  Men  pricked  up  their  ears, 
incredulous,  whispering  one  another.  One  man  deliberately 
moved  from  his  place  towards  the  box  in  which  sat  the  Chief 
of  the  Elders,  the  presiding  dignitary  in  the  absence  of  the 
President  of  the  Mahamad. 

"I  didn't  catch  —  how  much  was  that?"  he  asked. 

"  Five  pounds,"  said  the  Chief  of  the  Elders  shortly.  He 
suspected  an  irreverent  irony  in  the  Beggar's  contribution. 

The  Benediction  came  to  an  end,  but  ere  the  hearers  had 
time  to  realise  the  fact,  the  Master  Reader  had  started  on 
another.  "  May  He  who  blessed  our  fathers  ! "  he  began, 


THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 


131 


in  the  strange  traditional  recitative.     The  wave  of  curiosity 
mounted  again,  higher  than  before. 

"  Who  vows  —  " 

The  wave  hung  an  instant,  poised  and  motionless. 

"  Cincv  livras  /" 

The  wave  broke  in  a  low  murmur,  amid  which  the  Master 


"'i  DIDN'T  CATCH.'  " 

imperturbably  proceeded,  "  For  oil  —  for  the  life  of  his 
daughter  Deborah,  &c."  When  he  reached  the  end  there 
was  a  poignant  silence. 

Was  it  to  be  da  capo  again  ? 

"  May  He  who  blessed  our  fathers  ! " 

The  wave  of  curiosity  surged  once  more,  rising  and  sub- 
siding with  this  ebb  and  flow  of  financial  Benediction. 

"  Who  vows  —  cinco  livras  —  for  the  wax  candles." 


132  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

This  time  the  thrill,  the  whisper,  the  flutter,  swelled  into 
a  positive  buzz.  The  gaze  of  the  entire  congregation  was 
focussed  upon  the  Beggar,  who  stood  impassive  in  the  blaze 
of  glory.  Even  the  orphan  boys,  packed  in  their  pew,  paused 
in  their  inattention  to  the  Service,  and  craned  their  necks 
towards  the  platform.  The  veriest  magnates  did  not  thus 
play  piety  with  five  pound  points.  In  the  ladies'  gallery 
the  excitement  was  intense.  The  occupants  gazed  eagerly 
through  the  grille.  One  woman  —  a  buxom  dame  of  forty 
summers,  richly  clad  and  jewelled  —  had  risen,  and  was 
tiptoeing  frantically  over  the  woodwork,  her  feather  waving 
like  a  signal  of  distress.  It  was  Manasseh's  wife.  The 
waste  of  money  maddened  her,  each  donation  hit  her  like 
a  poisoned  arrow ;  in  vain  she  strove  to  catch  her  spouse's 
eye.  The  air  seemed  full  of  gowns  and  toques  and  farthin- 
gales flaming  away  under  her  very  nose,  without  her  being 
able  to  move  hand  or  foot  in  rescue ;  whole  wardrobes  per- 
ished at  each  Benediction.  It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
she  restrained  herself  from  shouting  down  to  her  prodigal 
lord.  At  her  side  the  radiant  Deborah  vainly  tried  to  pacify 
her  by  assurances  that  Manasseh  never  intended  to  pay  up. 

"  Who  vows —  "  The  Benediction  had  begun  for  a  fourth 
time. 

"  Cinco  livras  for  the  Holy  Land."  And  the  sensation 
grew.  "  For  the  life  of  this  holy  congregation,  &c." 

The  Master  Reader's  voice  droned  on  impassively,  inter- 
minably. 

The  fourth  Benediction  was  drawing  to  its  close,  when  the 
beadle  was  seen  to  mount  the  platform  and  whisper  in  his 
ear.  Only  Manasseh  overheard  the  message. 

"  The  Chief  of  the  Elders  says  you  must  stop.  This  is 
mere  mockery.  The  man  is  a  Schnorrer,  an  impudent 
beggar." 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS, 


The  beadle  descend- 
ed the  steps,  and  after 
a  moment  of  inaudi- 
ble discussion  with  da 
Costa,  the  Master 
Reader  lifted  up  his 
voice  afresh. 

The  Chief  of  the 
Elders  frowned  and 
clenched  his  praying- 
shawl  angrily.  It  was  a 
fifth  Benediction  !  But 
the  Reader's  sing-song 
went  on,  for  Manas- 
seh's  wrath  was  nearer 
than  the  magnate's. 

"Who  vows  — 
cinco  livras — for 
the  Captives  — 
for  the  life  of  the 
Chief  of  the  Eld- 
ers !" 

The  Chief  bit 
his  lip   furiously 
at    this    delicate 
venge ;    galled   almost 
to  frenzy  by  the  aggra- 
vating foreboding  that 
the  congregation  would 
construe   his    message 
as  a  solicitation  of  the 
polite   attention.     For 
it  was  of  the  amenities 
of  the  Synagogue  for 


re-     i. 


7 


"  SHE  STROVE  TO  CATCH  HER  SPOUSE'S  EYE.' 


134  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

rich  people  to  present  these  Benedictions  to  one  another. 
And  so  the  endless  stream  of  donatives  flowed  on,  pro- 
voking the  hearers  to  fever  pitch.  The  very  orphan  boys 
forgot  that  this  prolongation  of  the  service  was  retarding 
their  breakfasts  indefinitely.  Every  warden,  dignitary  and 
official,  from  the  President  of  the  Mahamad  down  to  the 
very  Keeper  of  the  Bath,  was  honoured  by  name  in  a  special 
Benediction,  the  chief  of  Manasseh's  weekly  patrons  were 
repaid  almost  in  kind  on  this  unique  and  festive  occasion. 
Most  of  the  congregation  kept  count  of  the  sum  total,  which 
was  mounting,  mounting 

Suddenly  there  was  a  confusion  in  the  ladies'  gallery,  cries, 
a  babble  of  tongues.  The  beadle  hastened  upstairs  to  im- 
pose his  authority.  The  rumour  circulated  that  Mrs.  da 
Costa  had  fainted  and  been  carried  out.  It  reached  Manas- 
seh's ears,  but  he  did  not  move.  He  stood  at  his  post, 
unfaltering,  donating,  blessing. 

"  Who  vows  —  cinco  livras  —  for  the  life  of  his  wife, 
Sarah  !  "  And  a  faint  sardonic  smile  flitted  across  the 
Beggar's  face. 

The  oldest  worshipper  wondered  if  the  record  would  be 
broken.  Manasseh's  benefactions  were  approaching  thrill- 
ingly  near  the  highest  total  hitherto  reached  by  any  one 
man  upon  any  one  occasion.  Every  brain  was  troubled  by 
surmises.  The  Chief  of  the  Elders,  fuming  impotently,  was 
not  alone  in  apprehending  a  blasphemous  mockery  ;  but  the 
bulk  imagined  that  the  Schnorrer  had  come  into  property 
or  had  always  been  a  man  of  substance,  and  was  now  taking 
this  means  of  restoring  to  the  Synagogue  the  funds  he  had 
drawn  from  it.  And  the  fountain  of  Benevolence  played  on. 

The  record  figure  was  reached  and  left  in  the  rear.  When 
at  length  the  poor  Master  Reader,  sick  unto  death  of  the 
oft-repeated  formula  (which  might  just  as  well  have  covered 


THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 


135 


all  the  contributions  the  first  time,  though  Manasseh  had 
commanded  each  new  Benediction  as  if  by  an  after- thought), 
was  allowed  to  summon  the  Levite  who  succeeded  Manasseh, 
the  Synagogue  had  been  enriched  by  a  hundred   pounds. 
The  last  Benediction  had  been  coupled  with  the  name  of  the 
poorest  Schnorrer 
present  —  an    asser- 
tion and  glorification 
of    Manasseh's    own 
order    that    put    the 
coping-stone  on  this 
sensational  memorial 
of  the    Royal   Wed- 
ding.   It  was,  indeed, 
a  kingly  munificence, 
a  sovereign  gracious- 
ness.   Nay,  before  the 
Service  was  over,  Ma- 
nasseh  even  begged 
the  Chief  of  the  Eld- 
ers to  permit  a  spe- 
cial Rogation   to    be 
said  for  a  sick  person. 
The    Chief,    meanly 
snatching  at  this  op- 
portunity of  reprisals,  refused,  till,  learning  that  Manasseh 
alluded  to  the  ailing  President  of  the  Mahamad,  he  collapsed 
ingloriously. 

But  the  real  hero  of  the  day  was  Yankel£,  who  shone 
chiefly  by  reflected  light,  but  yet  shone  even  more  bril- 
liantly than  the  Spaniard,  for  to  him  was  added  the  double 
lustre  of  the  bridegroom  and  the  stranger,  and  he  was  the 
cause  and  centre  of  the  sensation. 


'MRS.   DA   COSTA   HAD    FAINTED." 


136  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

His  eyes  twinkled  continuously  throughout. 

The  next  day,  Manasseh  fared  forth  to  collect  the  hundred 
pounds ! 

The  day  being  Sunday,  he  looked  to  find  most  of  his 
clients  at  home.  He  took  Grobstock  first  as  being  nearest, 
but  the  worthy  speculator  and  East  India  Director  espied 
him  from  an  upper  window,  and  escaped  by  a  back-door 
into  Goodman's  Fields  —  a  prudent  measure,  seeing  that 
the  incredulous  Manasseh  ransacked  the  house  in  quest  of 
him.  Manasseh's  manner  was  always  a  search-warrant. 

The  King  consoled  himself  by  paying  his  next  visit  to  a 
personage  who  could  not  possibly  evade  him  —  none  other 
than  the  sick  President  of  the  Mahamad.  He  lived  in  Devon- 
shire Square,  in  solitary  splendour.  Him  Manasseh  bearded 
in  his  library,  where  the  convalescent  was  sorting  his  collec- 
tion of  prints.  The  visitor  had  had  himself  announced  as  a 
gentleman  on  synagogual  matters,  and  the  public-spirited 
President  had  not  refused  himself  to  the  business.  But  when 
he  caught  sight  of  Manasseh,  his  puffy  features  were  dis- 
torted, he  breathed  painfully,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  hip. 

"  You  !  "  he  gasped. 

"  Have  a  care,  my  dear  sir  !  Have  a  care  !  "  said  Manas- 
seh anxiously,  as  he  seated  himself.  "  You  are  still  weak. 
To  come  to  the  point  —  for  I  would  not  care  to  distract  too 
much  a  man  indispensable  to  the  community,  who  has 
already  felt  the  hand  of  the  Almighty  for  his  treatment  of 
the  poor  —  " 

He  saw  that  his  words  were  having  effect,  for  these  pros- 
perous pillars  of  the  Synagogue  were  mightily  superstitious 
under  affliction,  and  he  proceeded  in  gentler  tones.  "  To 
come  to  the  point,  it  is  my  duty  to  inform  you  (for  I  am 
the  only  man  who  is  certain  of  it)  that  while  you  have  been 
away  our  Synagogue  has  made  a  bad  debt !  " 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


137 


"  A  bad  debt ! "  An  angry  light  leapt  into  the  Presi- 
dent's eyes.  There  had  been  an  ancient  practice  of  lending 
out  the  funds  to  members,  and  the  President  had  always  set 
his  face  against  the  survival  of  the  policy.  "  It  would  not 
have  been  made  had  I  been  there  ! "  he  cried. 


"SORTING   HIS   COLLECTION   OF  PRINTS." 

"No,  indeed,"  admitted  Manasseh.  "You  would  have 
stopped  it  in  its  early  stages.  The  Chief  of  the  Elders 
tried,  but  failed." 

"The  dolt!"  cried  the  President.  "A  man  without  a 
backbone.  How  much  is  it?" 


138  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

"  A  hundred  pounds  !  " 

"  A  hundred  pounds  !  "  echoed  the  President,  seriously 
concerned  at  this  blot  upon  his  year  of  office.  "  And  who 
is  the  debtor?" 

"  I  am." 

"  You  !  You  have  borrowed  a  hundred  pounds,  you  — 
you  jackanapes ! " 

"  Silence,  sir !  How  dare  you  ?  I  should  leave  this 
apartment  at  once,  were  it  not  that  I  cannot  go  without  your 
apology.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  borrowed  a  hundred 
pounds  —  nay,  never  have  I  borrowed  one  farthing.  I  am 
no  borrower.  If  you  are  a  gentleman,  you  will  apologise  !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  misunderstood,"  murmured  the  poor 
President,  "  but  how,  then,  do  you  owe  the  money?  " 

"How,  then?"  repeated  Manasseh  impatiently.  "Can- 
not you  understand  that  I  have  donated  it  to  the  Syna- 
gogue ?  " 

The  President  stared  at  him  open-mouthed. 

"  I  vowed  it  yesterday  in  celebration  of  my  daughter's 
marriage." 

The  President  let  a  sigh  of  relief  pass  through  his  open 
mouth.  He  was  even  amused  a  little. 

"Oh,  is  that  all?  It  was  like  your  deuced  effrontery; 
but  still,  the  Synagogue  doesn't  lose  anything.  There's  no 
harm  done." 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ?  "  enquired  Manasseh  sternly.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say  I  am  not  to  pay  this  money?  " 

"  How  can  you  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  ?  I  come  to  you  and  others  like  you  to  pay 
it  for  me." 

"  Nonsense  !  Nonsense  !  "  said  the  President,  begin- 
ning to  lose  his  temper  again.  "  We'll  let  it  pass.  There's 
no  harm  done." 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  139 

"And  this  is  the  President  of  the  Mahamad  !  "  soliloquised 
the  Schnorrer  in  bitter  astonishment.  "  This  is  the  chief  of 
our  ancient,  godly  Council !  What,  sir !  Do  you  hold 
words  spoken  solemnly  in  Synagogue  of  no  account? 
Would  you  have  me  break  my  solemn  vow?  Do  you 
wish  to  bring  the  Synagogue  institutions  into  contempt? 
Do  you  —  a  man  already  once  stricken  by  Heaven  —  in- 
vite its  chastisement  again  ?  " 

The  President  had  grown  pale  —  his  brain  was  reeling. 

"  Nay,  ask  its  forgiveness,  sir,"  went  on  the  King  implac- 
ably ;  "  and  make  good  this  debt  of  mine  in  token  of  your 
remorse,  as  it  is  written,  '  And  repentance,  and  prayer,  and 
charity  avert  the  evil  decree.'  " 

"  Not  a  penny  ! "  cried  the  President,  with  a  last  gleam 
of  lucidity,  and  strode  furiously  towards  the  bell-pull.  Then 
he  stood  still  in  sudden  recollection  of  a  similar  scene  in 
the  Council  Chamber. 

"  You  need  not  trouble  to  ring  for  a  stroke,"  said  Manas- 
seh  grimly.  "Then  the  Synagogue  is  to  be  profaned, 
then  even  the  Benediction  which  I  in  all  loyalty  and  forgive- 
ness caused  to  be  said  for  the  recovery  of  the  President  of 
the  Mahamad  is  to  be  null,  a  mockery  in  the  sight  of  the 
Holy  One,  blessed  be  He  !  " 

The  President  tottered  into  his  reading-chair. 

"  How  much  did  you  vow  on  my  behalf?  " 

"Five  pounds." 

The  President  precipitately  drew  out  a  pocket-book  and 
extracted  a  crisp  Bank  of  England  note. 

"  Give  it  to  the  Chancellor,"  he  breathed,  exhausted. 

"  I  am  punished,"  quoth  Manasseh  plaintively  as  he 
placed  it  in  his  bosom.  "  I  should  have  vowed  ten  for 
you."  And  he  bowed  himself  out. 

In  like  manner  did  he  collect  other  contributions  that 


140  THE  KING   OF  SCHNORRERS. 

day  from  Sephardic  celebrities,  pointing  out  that  now  a 
foreign  Jew  —  Yankel6  to  wit  —  had  been  admitted  to  their 
communion,  it  behoved  them  to  show  themselves  at  their 
best.  What  a  bad  effect  it  would  have  on  Yankete  if  a 
Sephardi  was  seen  to  vow  with  impunity  !  First  impres- 
sions were  everything,  and  they  could  not  be  too  careful. 
It  would  not  do  for  Yankele  to  circulate  contumelious 
reports  of  them  among  his  kin.  Those  who  remonstrated 
with  him  over  his  extravagance  he  reminded  that  he  had 
only  one  daughter,  and  he  drew  their  attention  to  the 
favourable  influence  his  example  had  had  on  the  Saturday 
receipts.  Not  a  man  of  those  who  came  after  him  in  the 
Reading  had  ventured  to  offer  half-crowns.  He  had  fixed 
the  standard  in  gold  for  that  day  at  least,  and  who  knew 
what  noble  emulation  he  had  fired  for  the  future? 

Every  man  who  yielded  to  Manasseh's  eloquence  was  a 
step  to  reach  the  next,  for  Manasseh  made  a  list  of  donors, 
and  paraded  it  reproachfully  before  those  who  had  yet  to 
give.  Withal,  the  most  obstinate  resistance  met  him  in 
some  quarters.  One  man  —  a  certain  Rodriques,  inhabiting 
a  mansion  in  Finsbury  Circus  —  was  positively  rude. 

"  If  I  came  in  a  carriage,  you'd  soon  pull  out  your  ten- 
pound  note  for  the  Synagogue,"  sneered  Manasseh,  his 
blood  boiling. 

"Certainly  I  would,"  admitted  Rodriques  laughing. 
And  Manasseh  shook  off  the  dust  of  his  threshold  in  dis- 
dain. 

By  reason  of  such  rebuffs,  his  collection  for  the  day  only 
reached  about  thirty  pounds,  inclusive  of  the  value  of  some 
depreciated  Portuguese  bonds  which  he  good-naturedly 
accepted  as  though  at  par. 

Disgusted  with  the  meanness  of  mankind,  da  Costa's 
genius  devised  more  drastic  measures.  Having  carefully 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  141 

locked  up  the  proceeds  of  Sunday's  operations,  and,  indeed, 
nearly  all  his  loose  cash,  in  his  safe,  for,  to  avoid  being  put 
to  expense,  he  rarely  carried  money  on  his  person,  unless  he 
gathered  it  en  route,  he  took  his  way  to  Bishopsgate  Within, 
to  catch  the  stage  for  Clapton.  The  day  was  bright,  and  he 
hummed  a  festive  Synagogue  tune  as  he  plodded  leisurely 
with  his  stick  along  the  bustling,  narrow  pavements,  bordered 
by  costers'  barrows  at  one  edge,  and  by  jagged  houses,  over- 
hung by  grotesque  signboards,  at  the  other,  and  thronged  by 
cits  in  worsted  hose. 

But  when  he  arrived  at  the  inn  he  found  the  coach  had 
started.  Nothing  concerned,  he  ordered  a  post-chaise  in  a 
supercilious  manner,  criticising  the  horses,  and  drove  to 
Clapton  in  style,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  spanking  steeds,  to  the 
music  of  the  postillion's  horn.  Very  soon  they  drew  out  of 
the  blocked  roads,  with  their  lumbering  procession  of  carts, 
coaches,  and  chairs,  and  into  open  country,  green  with  the 
fresh  verdure  of  the  spring.  The  chaise  stopped  at  "  The 
Red  Cottage,"  a  pretty  yilla,  whose  facade  was  covered  with 
Virginian  creeper  that  blushed  in  the  autumn.  Manasseh 
was  surprised  at  the  taste  with  which  the  lawn  was  laid  out 
in  the  Italian  style,  with  grottoes  and  marble  figures.  The 
householder,  hearing  the  windings  of  the  horn,  conceived 
himself  visited  by  a  person  of  quality,  and  sent  a  icssage 
that  he  was  in  the  hands  of  his  hairdresser,  but  would  be 
down  in  less  than  half  an  hour.  This  was  of  a  piece  with 
Manasseh 's  information  concerning  the  man  —  a  certain 
Belasco,  emulous  of  the  great  fops,  an  amateur  of  satin 
waistcoats  and  novel  shoestrings,  and  even  said  to  affect  a 
spying-glass  when  he  showed  at  Vauxhall.  Manasseh  had 
never  seen  him,  not  having  troubled  to  go  so  far  afield,  but 
from  the  handsome  appurtenances  of  the  hall  and  the  stair- 
case he  augured  the  best.  The  apartments  were  even  more 


142  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

to  his  liking ;  they  were  oak  panelled,  and  crammed  with 
the  most  expensive  objects  of  art  and  luxury.  The  walls 
of  the  drawing-room  were  frescoed,  and  from  the  ceiling 
depended  a  brilliant  lustre,  with  seven  spouts  for  illumination. 

Having  sufficiently  examined  the  furniture,  Manasseh  grew 
weary  of  waiting,  and  betook  himself  to  Belasco's  bed- 
chamber. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  Mr.  Belasco,"  he  said,  as  he  entered 
through  the  half  open  door,  "  but  my  business  is  urgent." 

The  young  dandy,  who  was  seated  before  a  mirror,  did 
not  look  up,  but  replied,  "  Have  a  care,  sir,  you  well  nigh 
startled  my  hairdresser." 

"Far  be  it  from  me  to  willingly  discompose  an  artist," 
replied  Manasseh  drily,  "  though  from  the  elegance  of  the 
design,  I  venture  to  think  my  interruption  will  not  make  a 
hair's-breadth  of  difference.  But  I  come  on  a  matter  which 
the  son  of  Benjamin  Belasco  will  hardly  deny  is  more  press- 
ing than  his  toilette." 

"  Nay,  nay,  sir,  what  can  be  more  momentous  ?  " 

"  The  Synagogue  !  "  said  Manasseh  austerely. 

"Pah!  What  are  you  talking  of,  sir?"  and  he  looked 
up  cautiously  for  the  first  time  at  the  picturesque  figure. 
"  What  does  the  Synagogue  want  of  me  ?  I  pay  my  finta 
and  every  bill  the  rascals  send  me.  Monstrous  fine  sums, 
too,  egad  —  " 

"  But  you  never  go  there  !  " 

"No,  indeed,  a  man  of  fashion  cannot  be  everywhere. 
Routs  and  rigotti  play  the  deuce  with  one's  time." 

"  What  a  pity  ! "  mused  Manasseh  ironically.  "  One 
misses  you  there.  'Tis  no  edifying  spectacle  —  a  slovenly 
rabble  with  none  to  set  the  standard  of  taste." 

The  pale-faced  beau's  eyes  lit  up  with  a  gleam  of  interest. 

"Ah,  the  clods  !"  he  said.     "You  should  yourself  be  a 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  143 

buck  of  the  eccentric  school  by  your  dress.  But  I  stick  to 
the  old  tradition  of  elegance." 

"You  had  better  stick  to  the  old  tradition  of  piety," 
quoth  Manasseh.  "  Your  father  was  a  saint,  you  are  a  sin- 
ner in  Israel.  Return  to  the  Synagogue,  and  herald  your 
return  by  contributing  to  its  finances.  It  has  made  a  bad 
debt,  and  I  am  collecting  money  to  reimburse  it." 

The  young  exquisite  yawned.  "  I  know  not  who  you  may 
be,"  he  said  at  length,  "  but  you  are  evidently  not  one  of  us. 
As  for  the  Synagogue  I  am  willing  to  reform  its  dress,  but 
dem'd  if  I  will  give  a  shilling  more  to  its  finances.  Let  your 
slovenly  rabble  of  tradesmen  pay  the  piper  —  I  cannot 
afford  it ! " 

"  You  cannot  afford  it !  " 

"No  —  you  see  I  have  such  extravagant  tastes." 

"  But  I  give  you  the  opportunity  for  extravagance,"  ex- 
postulated Manasseh.  "  What  greater  luxury  is  there  than 
that  of  doing  good  ?  " 

"  Confound  it,  sir,  I  must  ask  you  to  go,"  said  Beau  Be- 
lasco  coldly.  "  Do  you  not  perceive  that  you  are  discon- 
certing my  hairdresser?  " 

"  I  could  not  abide  a  moment  longer  under  this  profane, 
if  tasteful,  roof,"  said  Manasseh,  backing  sternly  towards  the 
door.  "  But  I  would  make  one  last  appeal  to  you,  for  the 
sake  of  the  repose  of  your  father's  soul,  to  forsake  your  evil 
ways." 

"Be  hanged  to  you  for  a  meddler,"  retorted  the  young 
blood.  "  My  money  supports  men  of  genius  and  taste  —  it 
shall  not  be  frittered  away  on  a  pack  of  fusty  shopkeepers." 

The  Schnorrer  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  his  eyes 
darted  fire.  "  Farewell,  then  !  "  he  hissed  in  terrible  tones. 
"  You  will  make  the  third  at  Grace!  " 

He  vanished  —  the  dandy  started  up  full  of  vague  alarm, 


144  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

forgetting  even  his  hair  in  the  mysterious  menace  of  that 
terrifying  sibilation. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Manasseh,  reappearing  at  the  door,  "  that 
since  the  world  was  created,  only  two  men  have  taken 
their  clothes  with  them  to  the  world  to  come.  One  was 
Korah,  who  was  swallowed  down,  the  other  was  Elijah,  who 


HE   HISSED." 


was  borne  aloft.  It  is  patent  in  which  direction  the  third 
will  go." 

The  sleeping  chord  of  superstition  vibrated  under  Manas- 
seh's  dexterous  touch. 

"  Rejoice,  O  young  man,  in  your  strength,"  went  on  the 
Beggar,  "  but  a  day  will  come  when  only  the  corpse-watchers 
will  perform  your  toilette.  In  plain  white  they  will  dress  you, 
and  the  devil  shall  never  know  what  a  dandy  you  were." 

"  But  who  are  you,  that  I  should  give  you  money  for  the 


THE    KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  145 

Synagogue?"  asked  the  Beau  sullenly.  "Where  are  your 
credentials  ?  " 

"Was  it  to  insult  me  that  you  called  me  back?  Do  I 
look  a  knave?  Nay,  put  up  your  purse.  I'll  have  none  of 
your  filthy  gold.  Let  me  go." 

Gradually  Manasseh  was  won  round  to  accepting  ten 
sovereigns. 

"  For  your  father's  sake,"  he  said,  pocketing  them.  "  The 
only  thing  I  will  take  for  your  sake  is  the  cost  of  my  con- 
veyance. I  had  to  post  hither,  and  the  Synagogue  must  not 
be  the  loser." 

Beau  Belasco  gladly  added  the  extra  money,  and  reseated 
himself  before  the  mirror,  with  agreeable  sensations  in  his 
neglected  conscience.  "You  see,"  he  observed,  half  apolo- 
getically, for  Manasseh  still  lingered,  "  one  cannot  do  every- 
thing. To  be  a  prince  of  dandies,  one  needs  all  one's  time." 
He  waved  his  hand  comprehensively  around  the  walls  which 
were  lined  with  wardrobes.  "  My  buckskin  breeches  were 
the  result  of  nine  separate  measurings.  Do  you  note  how 
they  fit?" 

"They  scarcely  do  justice  to  your  eminent  reputation," 
replied  Manasseh  candidly. 

Beau  Belasco's  face  became  whiter  than  even  at  the 
thought  of  earthquakes  and  devils.  "They  fit  me  to  burst- 
ing ! "  he  breathed. 

"  But  are  they  in  the  pink  of  fashion?  "  queried  Manasseh. 
"  And  assuredly  the  nankeen  pantaloons  yonder  I  recollect  to 
have  seen  worn  last  year." 

"  My  tailor  said  they  were  of  a  special  cut  —  'tis  a  shape 
I  am  introducing,  baggy  —  to  go  with  frilled  shirts." 

Manasseh  shook  his  head  sceptically,  whereupon  the  Beau 
besought  him  to  go  through  his  wardrobe,  and  set  aside 
anything  that  lacked  originality  or  extreme  fashionable- 


146  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

ness.  After  considerable  reluctance  Manasseh  consented, 
and  set  aside  a  few  cravats,  shirts,  periwigs,  and  suits  from 
the  immense  collection. 

"  Aha !  That  is  all  you  can  find,"  said  the  Beau  glee- 
fully. 

"  Yes,  that  is  all,"  said  Manasseh  sadly.  "  All  I  can  find 
that  does  any  justice  to  your  fame.  These  speak  the  man 
of  polish  and  invention ;  the  rest  are  but  tawdry  frippery. 
Anybody  might  wear  them." 

"  Anybody  !  "  gasped  the  poor  Beau,  stricken  to  the  soul. 

"  Yes,  I  might  wear  them  myself." 

"  Thank  you  !  Thank  you  !  You  are  an  honest  man. 
I  love  true  criticism,  when  the  critic  has  nothing  to  gain.  I 
am  delighted  you  called.  These  rags  shall  go  to  my  valet." 

"  Nay,  why  waste  them  on  the  heathen?"  asked  Manas- 
seh, struck  with  a  sudden  thought.  "  Let  me  dispose  of 
them  for  the  benefit  of  the  Synagogue." 

"  If  it  would  not  be  troubling  you  too  much  !  " 

"Is  there  anything  I  would  not  do  for  Heaven?"  said 
Manasseh  with  a  patronising  air.  He  threw  open  the  door 
of  the  adjoining  piece  suddenly,  disclosing  the  scowling 
valet  on  his  knees.  "  Take  these  down,  my  man,"  he  said 
quietly,  and  the  valet  was  only  too  glad  to  hide  his  confusion 
at  being  caught  eavesdropping  by  hastening  down  to  the 
drive  with  an  armful  of  satin  waistcoats. 

Manasseh,  getting  together  the  remainder,  shook  his 
head  despairingly.  "  I  shall  never  get  these  into  the  post- 
chaise,"  he  said.  "  You  will  have  to  lend  me  your  carriage." 

"Can't  you  come  back  for  them?"  said  the  Beau  feebly. 

"  Why  waste  the  Synagogue's  money  on  hired  vehicles  ? 
No,  if  you  will  crown  your  kindness  by  sending  the  footman 
along  with  me  to  help  me  unpack  them,  you  shall  have  your 
equipage  back  in  an  hour  or  two." 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


147 


So  the  carriage  and  pair  were  brought  out,  and  Manasseh, 
pressing  into  his  service  the  coachman,  the  valet,  and  the 
footman,  superintended  the  packing  of  the  bulk  of  Beau 
Belasco's  wardrobe  into  the  two  vehicles.  Then  he  took 
his  seat  in  the  carriage,  the  coachman  and  the  gorgeous 
powdered  footman  got  into  their 
places,  and  with  a  joyous  fanfaron- 
ade on  the  horn,  the  procession  set 
off,  Manasseh  bowing 
graciously  to  the  mas- 
ter of  "The  Red 
House,"  who  was  wav- 
ing his  beruffled  hand 
from  a  .window  em- 
bowered in  greenery. 
After  a  pleasant  drive, 
the  vehicles  halted  at 
the  house,  guarded  by 
stone  lions,  in  which 
dwelt  Nathaniel  Fur- 
tado,  the  wealthy  pri- 
vate dealer,  who  will- 
ingly gave  fifteen 
pounds  for  the  buck's 
belaced  and  embroid- 
ered vestments,  be- 
sides being  inveigled  into  a  donation  of  a  guinea  towards 
the  Synagogue's  bad  debt.  Manasseh  thereupon  dismissed 
the  chaise  with  a  handsome  gratuity,  and  drove  in  state  in 
the  now-empty  carriage,  attended  by  the  powdered  footman, 
to  Finsbury  Circus,  to  the  mansion  of  Rodriques.  "  I  have 
come  for  my  ten  pounds,"  he  said,  and  reminded  him  of 
his  promise  (  ?) .  Rodriques  laughed,  and  swore,  and  laughed 


'THE   SCOWLING  VALET  ON   HIS   KNEES.' 


148  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

again,  and  swore  that  the  carriage  was  hired,  to  be  paid  for 
out  of  the  ten  pounds. 

"Hired?"  echoed  Manasseh  resentfully.  "Do  you  not 
recognise  the  arms  of  my  friend,  Beau  Belasco  ?  "  And  he 
presently  drove  off  with  the  note,  for  Rodriques  had  a 
roguish  eye.  And  then,  parting  with  the  chariot,  the  King 
took  his  way  on  foot  to  Fenchurch  Street,  to  the  house  of 
his  cousin  Barzillai,  the  ex- planter  of  Barbadoes,  and  now 
a  West  Indian  merchant. 

Barzillai,  fearing  humiliation  before  his  clerks,  always  car- 
ried his  relative  off  to  the  neighbouring  Franco's  Head  Tav- 
ern, and  humoured  him  with  costly  liquors. 

"  But  you  had  no  right  to  donate  money  you  did  not 
possess ;  it  was  dishonest,"  he  cried  with  irrepressible  ire. 

"  Hoity  toity  !  "  said  Manasseh,  setting  down  his  glass  so 
vehemently  that  the  stem  shivered.  "And  were  you  not 
called  to  the  Law  after  me?  And  did  you  not  donate 
money?  " 

"  Certainly  !     But  I  had  the  money." 

"What!      0%4you?" 

"  No,  no,  certainly  not.  I  do  not  carry  money  on  the 
Sabbath." 

"  Exactly.     Neither  do  I." 

"  But  the  money  was  at  my  bankers'." 

"  And  so  it  was  at  mine.  You  are  my  bankers,  you  and 
others  like  you.  You  draw  on  your  bankers  —  I  draw  on 
mine."  And  his  cousin  being  thus  confuted,  Manasseh  had 
not  much  further  difficulty  in  wheedling  two  pounds  ten  out 
of  him. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  "  I  really  think  you  ought  to  do 
something  to  lessen  the  Synagogue's  loss." 

"  But  I  have  just  given  !  "  quoth  Barzillai  in  bewilderment. 

"  That  you  gave  to  me  as  your  cousin,  to  enable  your 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


149 


relative  to  discharge  his  obligations.  I  put  it  strictly  on  a 
personal  footing.  But  now  I  am  pleading  on  behalf  of  the 
Synagogue,  which  stands  to  lose  heavily.  You  are  a  Seph- 
ardi  as  well  as  my  cousin.  It  is  a  distinction  not  unlike 
the  one  I  have  so  often  to  explain  to  you.  You  owe  me 
charity,  not  only  as  a  cousin,  but  as  a  Schnorrer  likewise." 


And,  having  wrested  another  guinea  from  the  obfuscated 
merchant,  he  repaired  to  Grobstock's  business  office  in 
search  of  the  defaulter. 

But  the  wily  Grobstock,  forewarned  by  Manasseh's  prom- 
ise to  visit  him,  and  further  frightened  by  his  Sunday 
morning  call,  had  denied  himself  to  the  Schnorrer  or  any- 
one remotely  resembling  him,  and  it  was  not  till  the  after- 
noon that  Manasseh  ran  him  to  earth  at  Sampson's  coffee- 
house in  Exchange  Alley,  where  the  brokers  foregathered, 


150  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

and  'prentices  and  students  swaggered  in  to  abuse  the 
Ministers,  and  all  kinds  of  men  from  bloods  to  barristers 
loitered  to  pick  up  hints  to  easy  riches.  Manasseh  detected 
his  quarry  in  the  furthermost  box,  his  face  hidden  behind 
a  broadsheet. 

"  Why  do  you  always  come  to  me  ? "  muttered  the  East 
India  Director  helplessly. 

"Eh?"  said  Manasseh,  mistrustful  of  his  own  ears.  "I 
beg  your  pardon." 

"  If  your  own  community  cannot  support  you,"  said 
Grobstock,  more  loudly,  and  with  all  the  boldness  of  an 
animal  driven  to  bay,  "  why  not  go  to  Abraham  Goldsmid, 
or  his  brother  Ben,  or  to  Van  Oven,  or  Oppenheim  — 
they're  all  more  prosperous  than  I." 

"  Sir  !  "  said  Manasseh  wrathfully.  "  You  are  a  skilful 
—  nay,  a  famous,  financier.  You  know  what  stocks  to  buy, 
what  stocks  to  sell,  when  to  follow  a  rise,  and  when  a  fall. 
When  the  Premier  advertises  the  loans,  a  thousand  specula- 
tors look  to  you  for  guidance.  What  would  you  say  if  1 
presumed  to  interfere  in  your  financial  affairs  —  if  I  told  you 
to  issue  these  shares  or  to  call  in  those?  You  would  tell 
me  to  mind  my  own  business  ;  and  you  would  be  perfectly 
right.  Now  Schnorring  is  my  business.  Trust  me,  I  know 
best  whom  to  come  to.  You  stick  to  stocks  and  leave 
Schnorring  alone.  You  are  the  King  of  Financiers,  but 
I  am  the  King  of  Schnorrers." 

Grobstock's  resentment  at  the  rejoinder  was  mitigated 
by  the  compliment  to  his  financial  insight.  To  be  put  on 
the  same  level  with  the  Beggar  was  indeed  unexpected. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cup  of  coffee  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  ought  scarcely  to  drink  with  you  after  your  reception 
of  me,"  replied  Manasseh  unappeased.  "  It  is  not  even 
as  if  I  came  to  schnorr  for  myself;  it  is  to  the  finances 


"HIS  FACE  HIDDEN  BEHIND  A  BROADSHEET." 
151 


152  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

of  our  house  of  worship  that  I  wished  to  give  you  an  oppor- 
tunity of  contributing." 

"Aha!  your  vaunted  community  hard  up?"  queried 
Joseph,  with  a  complacent  twinkle. 

"  Sir  !  We  are  the  richest  congregation  in  the  world. 
We  want  nothing  from  anybody,"  indignantly  protested 
Manasseh,  as  he  absent-mindedly  took  the  cup  of  coffee 
which  Grobstock  had  ordered  for  him.  "The  difficulty 
merely  is  that,  in  honour  of  my  daughter's  wedding,  I  have 
donated  a  hundred  pounds  to  the  Synagogue  which  I  have 
not  yet  managed  to  collect,  although  I  have  already  devoted 
a  day-and-a-half  of  my  valuable  time  to  the  purpose." 

"  But  why  do  you  come  to  me  ?  " 

"  What !     Do  you  ask  me  that  again?  " 

"I  —  I  —  mean,"  stammered  Grobstock  —  "why  should 
I  contribute  to  a  Portuguese  Synagogue  ?  " 

Manasseh  clucked  his  tongue  in  despair  of  such  stupidity. 
"It  is  just  you  who  should  contribute  more  than  any 
Portuguese." 

"  I  ?  "     Grobstock  wondered  if  he  was  awake. 

"  Yes,  you.  Was  not  the  money  spent  in  honour  of  the 
marriage  of  a  German  Jew  ?  It  was  a  splendid  vindication 
of  your  community." 

"  This  is  too  much  ! "  cried  Grobstock,  outraged  and 
choking. 

"Too  much  to  mark  the  admission  to  our  fold  of  the 
first  of  your  sect !  I  am  disappointed  in  you,  deeply 
disappointed.  I  thought  you  would  have  applauded  my 
generous  behaviour." 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  thought ! "  gasped  Grobstock. 
He  was  genuinely  exasperated  at  the  ridiculousness  of  the 
demand,  but  he  was  also  pleased  to  find  himself  preserving 
so  staunch  a  front  against  the  insidious  Schnorrer.  If 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS.  153 

he  could  only  keep  firm  now,  he  told  himself,  he  might 
emancipate  himself  for  ever.  Yes,  he  would  be  strong,  and 
Manasseh  should  never  dare  address  him  again.  "  I  won't 
pay  a  stiver,"  he  roared. 

"  If  you  make  a  scene  I  will  withdraw,"  said  Manasseh 
quietly.  "  Already  there  are  ears  and  eyes  turned  upon 
you.  From  your  language  people  will  be  thinking  me  a 
dun  and  you  a  bankrupt." 

"  They  can  go  to  the  devil ! "  thundered  Grobstock, 
"  and  you  too  !  " 

"  Blasphemer  !  You  counsel  me  to  ask  the  devil  to  con- 
tribute to  the  Synagogue  !  I  will  not  bandy  words  with 
you.  You  refuse,  then,  to  contribute  to  this  fund?" 

"  I  do,  I  see  no  reason." 

"  Not  even  the  five  pounds  I  vowed  on  behalf  of  Yankete 
himself —  one  of  your  own  people  ?  " 

"  What !  I  pay  in  honour  of  Yanked  —  a  dirty  Schnorrer  !  " 

"Is  this  the  way  you  speak  of  your  guests?"  said 
Manasseh,  in  pained  astonishment.  "  Do  you  forget  that 
Yankel6  has  broken  bread  at  your  table?  Perhaps  this 
is  how  you  talk  of  me  when  my  back  is  turned.  But, 
beware  !  Remember  the  saying  of  our  sages,  '  You  and  I 
cannot  live  in  the  world,'  said  God  to  the  haughty  man. 
Come,  now  !  No  more  paltering  or  taking  refuge  in  abuse. 
You  refuse  me  this  beggarly  five  pounds?  " 

"  Most  decidedly." 

"  Very  well,  then  !  " 

Manasseh  called  the  attendant. 

"What  are  you  about  to  do?"  cried  Grobstock  appre- 
hensively. 

"  You  shall  see,"  said  Manasseh  resolutely,  and  when  the 
attendant  came,  he  pressed  the  price  of  his  cup  of  coffee 
into  his  hand. 


154  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

Grobstock  flushed  in  silent  humiliation.     Manasseh  rose. 

Grobstock's  fatal  strain  of  weakness  gave  him  a  twinge  of 
compunction  at  the  eleventh  hour. 

"You  see  for  yourself  how  unreasonable  your  request 
was,"  he  murmured. 

"  Do  not  strive  to  justify  yourself,  I  am  done  with  you," 
said  Manasseh.  "  I  am  done  with  you  as  a  philanthropist. 
For  the  future  you  may  besnuff  and  bespatter  your  coat 
as  much  as  you  please,  for  all  the  trouble  I  shall  ever  take. 
As  a  financier,  I  still  respect  you,  and  may  yet  come  to  you, 
but  as  a  philanthropist,  never." 

"Anything  I  can  do  —  "  muttered  Grobstock  vaguely. 

"  Let  me  see  !  "  said  Manasseh,  looking  down  upon  him 
thoughtfully.  "  Ah,  yes,  an  idea  !  I  have  collected  over 
sixty  pounds.  If  you  would  invest  this  for  me  —  " 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  interrupted  Grobstock,  with  con- 
ciliatory eagerness. 

"  Good  !  With  your  unrivalled  knowledge  of  the  markets, 
you  could  easily  bring  it  up  to  the  necessary  sum  in  a  day 
or  two.  Perhaps  even  there  is  some  grand  coup  on  the 
tapis ,  something  to  be  bulled  or  beared  in  which  you  have  a 
hand." 

Grobstock  nodded  his  head  vaguely.  He  had  already 
remembered  that  the  proceeding  was  considerably  below 
his  dignity ;  he  was  not  a  stockbroker,  never  had  he  done 
anything  of  the  kind  for  anyone. 

"  But  suppose  I  lose  it  all?  "  he  asked,  trying  to  draw  back. 

"  Impossible,"  said  the  Schnorrer  serenely.  "  Do  you 
forget  it  is  a  Synagogue  fund?  Do  you  think  the  Almighty 
will  suffer  His  money  to  be  lost?" 

"Then  why  not  speculate  yourself?"  said  Grobstock 
craftily. 

"  The   Almighty's   honour    must    be    guarded.      What ! 


THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 


155 


Shall  He  be  less  well  served  than  an  earthly  monarch  ?  Do 
you  think  I  do  not  know  your  financial  relations  with  the 
Court?  The  service  of  the  Almighty  demands  the  best  men. 
I  was  the  best  man  to  collect  the  money  —  you  are  the  best 
to  invest  it.  To-morrow  morning  it  shall  be  in  your  hands." 

"  No,  don't  trouble,"  said  Grobstock  feebly.     "  I  don't 
need  the  actual  money 
to  deal  with." 

"  I  thank  you  for 
your  trust  in  me,"  re- 
plied Manasseh  with 
emotion.  "  Now  you 
speak  like  yourself 
again.  I  withdraw  what 
I  said  to  you.  I  will 
come  to  you  again  — 
to  the  philanthropist 
no  less  than  financier. 
And  —  and  I  am  sorry 
I  paid  for  my  coffee." 
His  voice  quivered. 

Grobstock  was 
touched.  He  took  out 
a  sixpence  and  repaid 
his  guest  with  interest.  Manasseh  slipped  the  coin  into  his 
pocket,  and  shortly  afterwards,  with  some  final  admonitions 
to  his  stock-jobber,  took  his  leave. 

Being  in  for  the  job,  Grobstock  resolved  to  make  the 
best  of  it.  His  latent  vanity  impelled  him  to  astonish  the 
Beggar.  It  happened  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  a  mag- 
nificent manoeuvre,  and  alongside  his  own  triton  Manasseh's 
minnow  might  just  as  well  swim.  He  made  the  sixty  odd 
pounds  into  six  hundred. 


:  STRUCK  THE  CHANCELLOR  BREATHLESS.' 


156  THE  KING    OF  SCHNORRERS. 

A  few  days  after  the  Royal  Wedding,  the  glories  of 
which  are  still  a  tradition  among  the  degenerate  Schnorrers 
Of  to-day,  Manasseh  struck  the  Chancellor  breathless  by 
handing  him  a  bag  containing  five  score  of  sovereigns. 
Thus  did  he  honourably  fulfil  his  obligation  to  the  Syna- 
gogue, and  with  more  celerity  than  many  a  Warden.  Nay, 
more  !  Justly  considering  the  results  of  the  speculation 
should  accrue  to  the  Synagogue,  whose  money  had  been 
risked,  he,  with  Quixotic  scrupulousness,  handed  over  the 
balance  of  five  hundred  pounds  to  the  Mahamad,  stipulat- 
ing only  that  it  should  be  used  to  purchase  a  life-annuity 
(styled  the  Da  Costa  Fund)  for  a  poor  and  deserving 
member  of  the  congregation,  in  whose  selection  he,  as 
donor,  should  have  the  ruling  voice.  The  Council  of  Five 
eagerly  agreed  to  his  conditions,  and  a  special  junta  was 
summoned  for  the  election.  The  donor's  choice  fell  upon 
Manasseh  Bueno  Barzillai  Azevedo  da  Costa,  thenceforward 
universally  recognised,  and  hereby  handed  down  to  tradition, 
as  the  King  of  Schnorrers. 


THERE  was  nothing  about  the 
outside  of  the  Dragon  to  indicate 
so  large  a  percentage  of  senti- 
ment. It  was  a  mere  every-day 
Dragon,  with  the  usual  squamous 
hide,  glittering  like  silver  armour, 
,  N  a  commonplace  crested  head  with 
717  a  forked  tongue,  a  tail  like  a 
barbed  arrow,  a  pair  of  fan-shaped  wings,  and  four  indiffer- 
ently ferocious  claws,  one  per  foot.  How  it  came  to  be  so 
susceptible  you  shall  hear,  and  then,  perhaps,  you  will  be  less 
surprised  at  its  unprecedented  and  undragonlike  behaviour. 
Once  upon  a  time,  as  the  good  old  chronicler,  Richard 
Johnson,  relateth,  Egypt  was  oppressed  by  a  Dragon  who 
made  a  plaguy  to-do  unless  given  a  virgin  daily  for  dinner. 
For  twenty-four  years  the  menu  was  practicable  ;  then  the 
supply  gave  out.  There  was  absolutely  no  virgin  left  in  the 
realm  save  Sabra,  the  king's  daughter.  As  365  x  24  only 
=  8760,  I  suspect  that  the  girls  were  anxious  to  dodge  the 
Dragon  by  marrying  in  haste.  The  government  of  the  day 
seems  to  have  been  quite  unworthy  of  confidence  and  utterly 
unable  to  grapple  with  the  situation,  and  poor  Ptolemy  was 
reduced  to  parting  with  the  Princess,  though  even  so  de- 
struction was  only  staved  off  for  a  day,  as  virgins  would  be 
157 


158  THE   SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON. 

altogether  "off"  on  the  morrow.  So  short-sighted  was  the 
Egyptian  policy  that  this  does  not  appear  to  have  occurred 
to  anybody.  At  the  last  moment  an  English  tourist  from 
Coventry,  known  as  George  (and  afterwards  sainted  by  an 
outgoing  administration  sent  to  his  native  borough  by  the 
country),  resolved  to  tackle  the  monster.  The  chivalrous 
Englishman  came  to  grief  in  the  encounter,  but  by  rolling 
under  an  orange  tree  he  was  safe  from  the  Dragon  so  long 
as  he  chose  to  stay  there,  and  so  in  the  end  had  no  difficulty 
in  despatching  the  creature  ;  which  suggests  that  the  sooth- 
sayers and  the  magicians  would  have  been  much  better  occu- 
pied in  planting  orange  trees  than  in  sacrificing  virgins.  Thus 
far  the  story,  which  is  improbable  enough  to  be  an  allegory. 

Now  many  centuries  after  these  events  did  not  happen, 
a  certain  worthy  citizen,  an  illiterate  fellow,  but  none  the 
worse  for  that,  made  them  into  a  pantomime  —  to  wit,  St. 
George  and  the  Dragon  ;  or,  Harlequin  Tom  Thumb.  And 
the  same  was  duly  played  at  a  provincial  theatre,  with  a 
lightly  clad  chorus  of  Egyptian  lasses,  in  glaring  contradic- 
tion of  the  dearth  of  such  in  the  fable,  and  a  Sabra  who 
sang  to  them  a  topical  song  about  the  County  Council. 

Curiously  enough,  in  private  life,  Sabra,  although  her 
name  was  Miss  on  the  posters,  was  really  a  Miss.  She  was 
quite  as  young  and  pretty  as  she  looked,  too,  and  only 
rouged  herself  for  the  sake  of  stage  perspective.  I  don't 
mean  to  say  she  was  as  beautiful  as  the  Egyptian  princess, 
who  was  as  straight  as  a  cedar  and  wore  her  auburn  hair  in 
wanton  ringlets,  but  she  was  a  sprightly  little  body  with 
sparkling  eyes  and  a  complexion  that  would  have  been  a 
good  advertisement  to  any  soap  on  earth.  But  better  than 
Sabra's  skin  was  Sabra's  heart,  which  though  as  yet  un- 
touched by  man  was  full  of  love  and  tenderness,  and  did 
not  faint  under  the  burden  of  supporting  her  mother  and 


THE  SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON. 


159 


the  household.     For  instead  of  having  a  king  for  a  sire, 
Sabra  had  a  drunken  scene-shifter  for  a  father.     Everybody 


"  INSTEAD   OF   HAVING   A    KING    FOR   A    SIRE,    SABRA    HAD    A    DRUNKEN 
SCENE-SHIFTER   FOR   A    FATHER." 

about  the  theatre  liked  Sabra,  from  the  actor-manager  (who 
played  St.  George)  to  the  stage  door-keeper  (who  played 
St.  Peter) .  Even  her  under-study  did  not  wish  her  ill. 


160  THE   SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON. 

Needless,  therefore,  to  say  it  was  Sabra  who  made  the 
Dragon  semi-sentimental.  Not  in  the  "book,"  of  course, 
where  his  desire  to  eat  her  remained  purely  literal.  Real 
Dragons  keep  themselves  aloof  from  sentiment,  but  a  stage 
Dragon  is  only  human.  Such  a  one  may  be  entirely  the 
slave  of  sentiment,  and  it  was  perhaps  to  the  credit  of  our 
Dragon  that  only  half  of  him  was  in  the  bonds.  The 
other  half — and  that  the  better  half — was  saturnine  and 
teetotal,  and  answered  to  the  name  of  Davie  Brigg. 

Davie  was  the  head  man  on  the  Dragon.  He  played  the 
anterior  parts,  waggled  the  head  and  flapped  the  wings  and 
sent  gruesome  grunts  and  penny  squibs  through  the  "  fire- 
breathing  "  jaws.  He  was  a  dour  middle-aged,  but  stage- 
struck,  Scot,  very  proud  of  his  rapid  rise  in  the  profession, 
for  he  had  begun  as  a  dramatist. 

The  rear  of  the  Dragon  was  simply  known  as  Jimmy. 

Jimmy  was  a  wreck.  His  past  was  a  mystery.  His  face 
was  a  brief  record  of  baleful  experiences,  and  he  had  the 
aspirates  of  a  gentleman.  He  had  gone  on  the  stage  to 
be  out  of  the  snow  and  the  rain.  Not  knowing  this,  the 
actor-manager  paid  him  ninepence  a  night.  His  wages  just 
kept  him  in  beer-money.  The  original  Sabra  tamed  two 
lions,  but  perhaps  it  was  a  greater  feat  to  tame  this  half  of  a 
Dragon. 

Jimmy's  tenderness  for  Sabra  began  at  rehearsal,  when  he 
saw  a  good  deal  of  her,  and  felicitated  himself  on  the  fact 
that  they  were  on  in  the  same  scenes.  After  a  while,  how- 
ever, he  perceived  this  to  be  a  doleful  drawback,  for  whereas 
at  rehearsal  he  could  jump  out  of  his  skin  and  breathe  him- 
self and  feast  his  eyes  on  Sabra  when  the  Dragon  was  dis- 
engaged, on  the  stage  he  was  forced  to  remain  cramped  in 
darkness  while  Ptolemy  was  clowning  or  St.  George  execut- 
ing a  step  dance.  Sabra  was  invisible,  except  for  an  odd 


THE   SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON. 


161 


moment  or  so  between  the  scenes  when  he  caught  sight  of 
her  gliding  to  her  dressing-room  like  a  streak  of  discreet 
sunshine.  Still  he  had  his  compensations  ;  her  dulcet  notes 
reached  his  darkness  (mellowed  by  the  painted  canvas  and 
the  tin  scales  sewn  over  it),  as  the  chant  of  the  unseen 
cuckoo  reaches  the  woodland  wanderer.  Sometimes,  when 
she  sang  that  song  about  the  County  Council,  he  forgot  to 
wag  his  tail. 


"SOMETIMES,  WHEN  SHE  SANG  THAT  SONG  ABOUT  THE  COUNTY 

COUNCIL,   HE   FORGOT  TO   WAG   HIS   TAIL." 

Thus  was  Love  blind,  while  Indifference  in  the  person  of 
Davie  Brigg  looked  its  full  through  the  mask  that  stood  for 
the  monster's  head.  After  a  bit  Jimmy  conceived  a  mad 
envy  of  his  superior's  privileges ;  he  longed  to  see  Sabra 
through  the  Dragon's  mouth.  He  was  so  weary  of  the  little 
strip  of  stage  under  the  Dragon's  belly,  which,  even  if  he 
peered  through  the  breathing-holes  in  the  patch  of  paint- 
disguised  gauze  let  into  its  paunch,  was  the  most  he  could 
see.  One  night  he  asked  Davie  to  change  places  with  him. 


162  THE  SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON. 

Davie's  look  of  surprise  and  consternation  was  beautiful  to 
see. 

"  Do  I  hear  aricht?  "  he  asked. 

"  Just  for  a  night,"  said  Jimmy,  abashed. 

"  But  d'ye  no  ken  this  is  a  speakin'  part?  " 

"  I  did  —  not  —  know — that,"  faltered  Jimmy. 

"Where's  your  ears,  mon?"  inquired  Davie  sternly. 
"  Dinna  ye  hear  me  growlin'  and  grizzlin'  and  squealin'  and 
skirlin'?" 

"  Y — e — s,"  said  Jimmy.  "  But  I  thought  you  did  it  at 
random." 

"  Thocht  I  did  it  at  random ! "  cried  Davie,  holding  up 
his  hands  in  horror.  "And  mebbe  also  ye  thocht  onybody 
could  do't ! " 

Jimmy's  shamed  silence  gave  consent  also  to  this  un- 
flinching interpretation  of  his  thought. 

"Ah  weel !  "  said  Davie,  with  melancholy  resignation,  "this 
is  the  artist's  reward  for  his  sweat  and  labour.  Why,  mon, 
let  me  tell  ye,  ilka  note  is  not  ainly  timed  but  modulatit  to 
the  dramatic  eenterest  o'  the  moment,  and  that  I  hae  prac- 
tised the  squeak  hours  at  a  time  wi'  a  bagpiper.  Tak'  my 
place,  indeed  !  Are  ye  fou  again,  or  hae  ye  tint  your  senses  ?  " 

"  But  you  could  do  the  words  all  the  same.  I  only  want 
to  see  for  once." 

"And  how  d'ye  think  the  words  should  sound,  coming 
from  the  creature's  belly  ?  And  what  should  ye  see  !  You 
should  nae  ken  where  to  go,  I  warrant.  Come,  I'll  spier  ye. 
Where  d'ye  come  in  for  the  fight  with  St.  George  —  is  it 
R2  EorLUE?" 

"  L  U  E,"  replied  Jimmy  feebly. 

"Ye  donnered  auld  runt!"  cried  Davie  triumphantly. 
"  Tis  neither  one  nor  t'other.  Tis  R  C.  Why,  ye're 
capable  of  deein'  up  stage  instead  of  down  !  Ye'd  spoil  my 


THE   SEMI-SENTIMENTAL   DRAGON. 


163 


great  scene.  And  ye  are  to  remember  I  wad  bear  the  wyte 
for  't,  for  naebody  but  our  two  sel's  should  ken  the  truth. 
Nay,  nay,  my  mon.  I  hae  my  responsibeelities  to  the  man- 
agement. Ye're  all  verra  weel  in  a  subordinate  position,  but 
dinna  ye  aspire  to  more  than  beseems  your  abeelities.  I  am 
richt  glad  ye  spoke  me. 
Eh,  but  it  would  be  an 
awfu'  thing  if  I  was 
taken  bad  and  naebody 
to  play  the  part.  I'll 
warn  the  manager  to 
put  on  an  under-study 
betimes." 

"  Oh,  but  let  me  be 
the  under-study,  then," 
pleaded  Jimmy. 

Davie  sniffed  scorn- 
fully. 

"  Tis  a  braw  thing, 
ambeetion,"  he  said, 
"  but  there's  a  proverb 
about  it  ye  ken,  meb- 
be." 

"But  I'll  notice 
everything  you  do,  and 
exactly  how  you  do  it ! " 

Davie  relented  a  lit- 
tle. 

"  Ah,  weel,"  he  said  cautiously,  "  I'll  bide  a  wee  before 
speaking  to  the  manager." 

But  Davie  remained  doggedly  robust,  and  so  Jimmy  still 
walked  in  darkness.  He  often  argued  the  matter  out  with 
his  superior,  maintaining  that  they  ought  to  toss  for  the 


'BUT   D'YE  NO  KEN   THIS   IS  A   SPEAKIN' 
PART?'" 


164  THE   SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON. 

position  —  head  or  tail.  Failing  to  convince  Davie,  he 
offered  him  fourpence  a  night  for  the  accommodation,  but 
Davie  saw  in  this  extravagance  evidence  of  a  determined 
design  to  supplant  him.  In  despair  Jimmy  watched  for  a 
chance  of  slipping  into  the  wire  framework  before  Davie, 
but  the  conscientious  artist  was  always  at  his  post  first. 
They  held  dialogues  on  the  subject,  while  with  pantomimic 
license  the  chorus  of  Egyptian  lasses  was  dancing  round  the 
Dragon  as  if  it  were  a  maypole.  Their  angry  messages  to 
each  other  vibrated  along  the  wires  of  their  prison-house, 
rending  the  Dragon  with  intestinal  war.  Weave  your  cloud- 
wrought  Utopias,  O  social  reformer,  but  wherever  men  in- 
habit, there  jealousy  and  disunion  shall  creep  in,  and  this 
gaudy  canvas  tent  with  its  tin  roofing  was  a  hotbed  of  envy, 
hatred,  and  all  uncharitableness.  Yet  Love  was  there,  too 
—  a  stranger,  purer  passion  than  the  battered  Jimmy  had 
ever  known ;  for  it  had  the  unselfishness  of  a  love  that  can 
never  be  more  than  a  dream,  that  the  beloved  can  never 
even  know  of.  Perhaps,  if  Jimmy  had  met  Sabra  before  he 
left  off  being  a  gentleman  —  ! 

The  silent,  hopeless  longing,  the  chivalrous  devotion  yearn- 
ing dumbly  within  him,  did  not  stop  his  beer ;  he  drank 
more  to  drown  his  thoughts.  Every  night  he  entered  into 
his  part  gladly,  knowing  himself  elevated  in  the  zoological 
scale,  not  degraded,  by  an  assumption  that  made  him  only 
half  a  beast.  It  was  kind  of  Providence  to  hide  him  wholly 
away  from  her  vision,  so  that  her  bright  eyes  might  not  be 
sullied  by  the  sight  of  his  foulness.  None  of  the  grinning 
audience  suspected  the  tragedy  of  the  hind  legs  of  the 
Dragon,  as  blindly  following  their  leader,  they  went  "gal- 
umphing "  about  the  stage.  The  innocent  children  marvelled 
at  the  monster,  in  wide-eyed  excitement,  unsuspecting  even 
its  humanity,  much  less  its  double  nature ;  only  Davie  knew 


THE  SEMI-SENTIMENTAL   DRAGON.  165 

that  in  that  Dragon  there  were  the  ruins  of  a  man  and  the 
makings  of  a  great  actor  ! 

"Why  are  ye  sae  anxious  to  stand  in  my  shoon?"  he 
would  ask,  when  the  hind  legs  became  too  obstreperous. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  in  your  shoes ;  I  only  want  to  see 
the  stage  for  once." 

But  Davie  would  shake  his  head  incredulously,  making  the 
Dragon's  mask  wobble  at  the  wrong  cues.  At  last,  once 
when  Sabra  was  singing,  poor  Jimmy,  driven  to  extremities, 
confessed  the  truth,  and  had  the  mortification  of  feeling  the 
wires  vibrate  with  the  Scotchman's  silent  laughter.  He 
blushed  unseen. 

But  it  transpired  that  Davie's  amusement  was  not  so  much 
scornful  as  sceptical.  He  still  suspected  the  tail  of  a  sinister 
intention  to  wag  the  Dragon. 

"  Nae,  nae,"  he  said,  "  ye  shallna  get  me  to  swallow  that. 
Ye're  an  unco  puir  creature,  but  ye're  no  sa  daft  as  to  want 
the  moon.  She's  a  bonnie  lassie,  and  I  willna  be  surprised 
if  she  catches  a  coronet  in  the  end,  when  she  makes  a  name 
in  Lunnon  ;  for  the  swells  here,  though  I  see  a  wheen  foolish 
faces  nicht  after  nicht  in  the  stalls,  are  but  a  puir  lot.  Eh, 
but  it's  a  gey  grand  tocher  is  a  pretty  face.  In  the  mean- 
whiles,  like  a  canny  girl,  she's  settin'  her  cap  at  the  chief." 

"  Hold  your  tongue  ! "  hissed  the  hind  legs.  "  She's  as 
pure  as  an  angel." 

"  Hoot-toot !  "  answered  the  head.  "  Dinna  leebel  the 
angels.  It's  no  an  angel  that  lets  her  manager  give  her  sly 
squeezes  and  saft  kisses  that  are  nae  in  the  stage  directions." 

"  Then  she  can't  know  he's  a  married  man,"  said  the  hind 
legs  hoarsely. 

"  Dinna  fash  yoursel'  —  she  kens  that  full  weel  and  a 
thocht  or  two  more.  Dod  !  Ye  should  just  see  how  she 
and  St.  George  carry  on  after  my  death  scene,  when  he's 
supposit  to  ha'  rescued  her  and  they  fall  a-cuddlin'." 


166  THE   SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON. 

"  You're  a  liar  !  "  said  the  hind  legs. 

Davie  roared  and  breathed  burning  squibs  and  capered 
about,  and  Jimmy  had  to  prance  after  him  in  involuntary 
pursuit.  He  felt  choking  in  his  stuffy  hot  black  rollicking 
dungeon.  The  thought  of  this  bloated  sexagenarian  faked 
up  as  a  jeune  premier,  pawing  that  sweet  little  girl,  sickened 
him. 

"  Dom'd  leear  yersel !  "  resumed  Davie,  coming  to  a  stand- 
still. "  I  maun  believe  my  own  eyes,  what  they  tell  me 
nicht  after  nicht." 

"  Then  let  me  see  for  myself,  and  I'll  believe  you." 

"  Ye  dinna  catch  me  like  that,"  said  Davie,  chuckling. 

After  that  poor  Jimmy's  anxiety  to  see  the  stage  became 
feverish.  He  even  meditated  malingering  and  going  in 
front  of  the  house,  but  could  only  have  got  a  distant  view, 
and  at  the  risk  of  losing  his  place  in  an  overcrowded  pro- 
fession. His  opportunity  came  at  length,  but  not  till  the 
pantomime  was  half  run  out  and  the  actor- manager  sought 
to  galvanise  it  by  a  "  second  edition,"  which  in  sum  meant 
a  new  lot  of  the  variety  entertainers  who  came  on  and  played 
copophones  before  Ptolemy,  did  card-tricks  in  the  desert, 
and  exhibited  trained  poodles  to  the  palm-trees.  But  Davie, 
determined  to  rise  to  the  occasion,  thought  out  a  fresh  con- 
ception of  his  part,  involving  three  new  grunts,  and  was  so 
busy  rehearsing  them  at  home  that  he  forgot  the  flight  of  the 
hours  and  arrived  at  the  theatre  only  in  time  to  take 
second  place  in  the  Dragon  that  was  just  waiting,  half- 
manned,  at  the  wing.  He  was  so  flustered  that  he  did  not 
even  think  of  protesting  for  the  first  few  minutes.  When  he 
did  protest,  Jimmy  said,  "  What  are  you  jawing  about  ?  This 
is  a  second  edition,  isn't  it?  "  and  caracoled  around,  dragging 
the  unhappy  Davie  in  his  train. 

"I'll  tell  the  chief,"  groaned  the  hind  legs. 


THE   SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON.  167 

"All  right,  let  him  know  you  were  late,"  answered  the 
head  cheerfully. 

"  Eh,  but  it's  pit-mirk,  here.     I  canna  see  onything." 

"You  see  I'm  no  liar.     Shall  I  send  a  squib  your  way?" 

"  Nay,  nay,  nae  larking.  Mind  the  business  or  you'll  ruin 
my  reputation." 

"  Mind  my  business,  I'll  mind  yours,"  replied  Jimmy 
joyously,  for  the  lovely  Sabra  was  smiling  right  in  his  eyes. 
A  Dragon  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand,  so  Davie  had 
to  wait  till  the  beast  came  off.  To  his  horror  Jimmy  refused 
to  budge  from  his  shell.  He  begged  for  just  one  "  keek  " 
at  the  stage,  but  Jimmy  replied  :  "  You  don't  catch  me  like 
that."  Davie  said  little  more,  but  he  matured  a  crafty  plan, 
and  in  the  next  scene  he  whispered  :  — 

"Jimmy  ! " 

"  Shut  up,  Davie  ;  I'm  busy." 

"  I've  got  a  pin,  and  if  ye  shallna  promise  to  restore  me 
my  richts  after  the  next  exit,  ye  shall  feel  the  taste  of  it." 

"  You'll  just  stay  where  you  are,"  came  back  the  peremp- 
tory reply. 

Deep  went  the  pin  in  Jimmy's  rear,  and  the  Dragon  gave 
such  a  howl  that  Davie's  blood  ran  cold.  Too  late  he  re- 
membered that  it  was  not  the  Dragon's  cue,  and  that  he  was 
making  havoc  of  nis  own  professional  reputation.  Through 
the  canvas  he  felt  the  stern  gaze  of  the  actor- manager.  He 
thought  of  pricking  Jimmy  only  at  the  howling  cues,  but 
then  the  howl  thus  produced  was  so  superior  to  his  own, 
that  if  Jimmy  chose  to  claim  it,  he  might  be  at  once  engaged 
to  replace  him  in  the  part.  What  a  dilemma  ! 

Poor  Davie  !  As  if  it  was  not  enough  to  be  cut  off  from 
all  the  brilliant  spectacle,  pent  in  pitchy  gloom  and  robbed 
of  all  his  "  fat "  and  his  painfully  rehearsed  "  second  edition  " 
touches.  He  felt  like  one  of  those  fallen  archangels  of  the 


168  THE   SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON. 

footlights  who  live  to  bear  Ophelia's  bier  on  boards  where 
they  once  played  Hamlet. 

Far  different  emotions  were  felt  at  the  Dragon's  head, 
where  Jimmy's  joy  faded  gradually  away,  replaced  by  a  pas- 
sion of  indignation,  as  with  love-sharpened  eyes  he  ascer- 
tained for  himself  the  true  relations  of  the  actor-manager 
with  his  "  principal  girl."  He  saw  from  his  coign  of  vantage 
the  poor  modest  little  thing  shrinking  before  the  cowardly 
advances  of  her  employer,  who  took  every  possible  advantage 
of  the  stage  potentialities,  in  ways  the  audience  could  not 
discriminate  from  the  acting.  Alas  !  what  could  the  gentle 
little  bread-winner  do?  But  Jimmy's  blood  was  boiling. 
Davie's  great  scene  arrived :  the  battle  royal  between  St. 
George  and  the  Dragon.  Sabra,  bewitchingly  radiant  in 
white  Arabian  silk,  stood  under  the  orange-tree  where  the 
pendent  fruit  was  labelled  three  a  penny.  Here  St.  George, 
in  knightly  armour  clad,  retired  between  the  rounds,  to  be 
sponged  by  the  fair  Sabra,  from  whose  lips  he  took  the  op- 
portunity of  drinking  encouragement.  When  the  umpire 
cried  "  Time  ! "  Jimmy  uttered  inarticulate  cries  of  real  rage 
and  malediction,  vomiting  his  squibs  straight  at  the  cham- 
pion's eyes  with  intent  to  do  him  grievous  bodily  injury. 
But  squibs  have  their  own  ways  of  jumping,  and  the  actor- 
manager's  face  was  protected  by  his  glittering  burgonet. 

At  last  Jimmy  and  Davie  were  duly  despatched  by  St. 
George's  trusty  sword,  Ascalon,  which  passed  right  between 
them  and  stuck  out  on  the  other  side  amid  the  frantic  ap- 
plause of  the  house.  The  Dragon  reeled  cumbrously  side- 
ways and  bit  the  dust,  of  which  there  was  plenty.  Then 
Sabra  rushed  forward  from  under  the  orange-tree  and  encir- 
cled her  hero's  hauberk  with  a  stage  embrace,  while  St. 
George,  lifting  up  his  visor,  rained  kiss  after  kiss  on  Sabra's 
scarlet  face,  and  the  "  gods  "  went  hoarse  with  joy. 


THE  SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON.  169 

"  Oh,  sir  !  "  Jimmy  heard  the  still  small  voice  of  the  bread- 
winner protest  feebly  again  and  again  amid  the  thunder,  as 
she  tried  to  withdraw  herself  from  her  employer's  grasp. 
This  was  the  last  straw.  Anger  and  the  foul  air  of  his  prison 
wrought  up  Jimmy  to  asphyxiation  point.  What  wonder  if 
the  Dragon  lost  his  head  completely? 

Uavie  will  never  forget  the  horror  of  that  moment  when 
he  felt  himself  dragged  upwards  as  by  an  irresistible  tornado, 
and  knew  himself  for  a  ruined  actor.  Mechanically  he  es- 
sayed to  cling  to  the  ground,  but  in  vain.  The  dead  Dragon 
was  on  its  feet  in  a  moment ;  in  another,  Jimmy  had  thrown 
off  the  mask,  showing  a  shock  of  hair  and  a  blotched  crimson 
face,  spotted  with  great  beads  of  perspiration.  Unconscious 
of  this  culminating  outrage,  Davie  made  desperate  prods 
with  his  pin,  but  Jimmy  was  equally  unconscious  of  the 
pricks.  The  thunder  died  abruptly.  A  dead  silence  fell 
upon  the  whole  house  —  you  could  have  heard  Davie's  pin 
drop.  St.  George,  in  amazed  consternation,  released  his 
hold  of  Sabra  and  cowered  back  before  the  wild  glare  of  the 
bloodshot  eyes.  "How  dare  you?"  rang  out  in  hoarse 
screaming  accents  from  the  protruding  head,  and  with  one 
terrific  blow  of  its  right  fore-leg  the  hybrid  monster  felled 
Sabra's  insulter  to  the  ground. 

The  astonished  St.  George  lay  on  his  back,  staring  up 
vacantly  at  the  flies. 

"  I'll  teach  you  how  to  behave  to  a  lady  ! "  roared  the 
Dragon. 

Then  Davie  tugged  him  frantically  backwards,  but  Jimmy 
cavorted  obstinately  in  the  centre  of  the  stage,  which  the 
actor-manager  had  taken  even  in  his  fall,  so  that  the 
Dragon's  hind  legs  trampled  blindly  on  Davie's  prostrate 
chief,  amid  the  hysterical  convulsions  of  the  house. 


170  THE   SEMI-SENTIMENTAL  DRAGON. 

Next  morning  the  local  papers  were  loud  in  their  praises 
of  the  "  Second  Edition  "  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon, 
especially  of  the  "  genuinely  burlesque  and  topsy-turvy  epi- 
sode in' which  the  Dragon  rises  from  the  dead  to  read  St. 
George  a  lesson  in  chivalry ;  a  really  side-splitting  concep- 
tion, made  funnier  by  the  grotesque  revelation  of  the  con- 
stituents of  the  Dragon,  just  before  it  retires  for  the  night." 

The  actor-manager  had  no  option  but  to  adopt  this  read- 
ing, so  had  to  be  hoofed  and  publicly  reprimanded  every 
evening  during  the  rest  of  the  season,  glad  enough  to  get  off 
so  cheaply. 

Of  course,  Jimmy  was  dismissed,  but  St.  George  was  pain- 
fully polite  to  Sabra  ever  after,  not  knowing  but  what  Jimmy 
was  in  the  gallery  with  a  brickbat,  and  perhaps  not  unim- 
pressed by  the  lesson  in  chivalry  he  was  receiving  every 
evening. 

Perhaps  you  think  the  Dragon  deserved  to  marry  Sabra, 
but  that  would  be  really  too  topsy-turvy,  and  the  sentimental 
beast  himself  was  quite  satisfied  to  have  rescued  her  from 
St.  George. 

But  the  person  who  profited  most  by  Jimmy's  sacrifice 
was  Davie,  who  stepped  into  a  real  speaking  part,  emerged 
from  the  obscurity  of  his  surroundings,  burst  his  swaddling 
clothes,  and  made  his  appearance  on  the  stage  —  a  thing  he 
could  scarcely  be  said  to  have  done  in  the  Dragon's  womb. 

And  so  the  world  wags. 


An  Honest  Log-Roller. 


Louis  MAUNDERS  was  writing  an  anonymous  novel,  and  a 
large  circle  of  friends  and  acquaintances  expected  it  to  make 
a  big  hit.  Louis  Maunders  was"  so  modest  that  he  dis- 
trusted his  own  opinion,  and  was  glad  to  find  his  friends 
sharing  it  in  this  matter.  It  strengthened  him.  He  carried 
the  manuscript  unostentatiously  about  in  a  long  brief  bag, 
while  the  book  was  writing,  and  worked  at  it  during  all  his 
spare  moments.  Even  in  omnibuses  he  was  to  be  seen 
scribbling  hard  with  a  stylus,  and  neglecting  to  attend  to 
the  conductor.  The  plot  of  the  story  was  sad  and  heart- 
rending, for  Louis  was  only  twenty-one.  Louis  refused  to 
give  those  roseate  pictures  of  life  which  the  conventional 
novelist  turns  out  to  please  the  public.  He  objected  to 
"happy  endings."  In  real  life,  he  said,  no  story  ends 
happily ;  for  the  end  of  everybody's  story  is  Death.  In  this 
book  he  said  some  bitter  things  about  Life  which  it  would 
have  winced  to  hear,  had  it  been  alive.  As  for  Death,  he 
doubted  whether  it  was  worth  dying.  Towards  Nature  he 
took  a  tone  of  haughty  superiority,  and  expressed  himself 
disrespectfully  on  the  subject  of  Fate.  He  mocked  at  it 
through  the  lips  of  his  hero,  and  altogether  seemed  qualify- 
ing for  the  liver  complaint,  which  is  the  Prometheus  myth 
done  into  modern  English.  He  taught  that  the  only  Peace 
for  man  lies  in  snapping  the  fingers  at  Fortune,  taking  her 
buffets  and  her  favours  with  equal  contempt,  and  generally 
teaching  her  to  know  her  place.  The  soul  of  the  Philoso- 
171 


172  AN  HONEST  LOG-ROLLER. 

pher,  he  said,  would  stand  grinning  cynically  though  the 
planetary  system  were  sold  off  by  auction.  These  lessons 
were  taught  with  great  tragic  power  in  Maunders'  novel,  and 
he  was  looking  forward  to  the  time  when  it  should  be  in 
print,  and  on  all  the  carpets  of  conversation.  He  was  ex- 
tremely gratified  to  find  his  friends  thinking  so  well  of  its 
prospects,  for  it  was  pleasing  to  him  to  discover  that  he  had 
chosen  his  circle  so  well,  and  had  such  intelligent  friends. 
It  did  not  seem  to  him  at  all  unlikely  that  he  would  make 
his  fortune  with  this  novel ;  and  he  hurried  on  with  it,  till 
the  masterpiece  needed  only  a  few  final  touches  and  a  few 
last  insults  to  Fate.  Then  he  left  the  bag  in  a  hansom  cab. 
When  he  remembered  his  forgetfulness,  he  was  distracted. 
He  raved  like  a  maniac  —  and  like  a  maniac  did  not  even 
write  his  ravings  down  for  after  use.  He  applied  at  Scotland 
Yard,  but  the  superintendent  said  that  drivers  brought  there 
only  articles  of  value.  He  sent  paragraphs  to  the  papers, 
asking  even  of  the  Echo  where  his  lost  novel  was.  But 
the  Echo  answered  not.  Several  spiteful  papers  insinuated 
that  he  was  a  liar,  and  a  high-class  comic  paper  went  out 
of  its  way  to  make  a  joke,  and  to  call  his  book  "The 
Mystery  of  a  Hansom  Cab."  The  annoying  part  of  the 
business  was  that  after  getting  all  this  gratuitous  advertise- 
ment, in  itself  enough  to  sell  two  editions,  the  book  still 
refused  to  come  up  for  publication.  Maunders  was  too 
heartbroken  to  write  another.  For  months  he  went  about, 
a  changed  being.  He  had  put  the  whole  of  himself  into 
that  book,  and  it  was  lost.  He  mourned  for  the  departed 
manuscript,  and  generously  extolled  its  virtues.  For  years 
he  remained  faithful  to  its  memory  ;  and  its  pages  were 
made  less  dry  with  his  tears.  But  the  most  intemperate 
grief  wears  itself  out  at  last ;  and  after  a  few  years  of 
melancholy,  Maunders  rallied  and  became  a  critic. 


AN  HONEST  LOG-ROLLER. 


173 


As  a  critic  he  set  in  with  great  severity,  and  by  care- 
fully refraining  from  doing  anything  himself,  gained  a  great 
reputation  far  and  wide.  In 
due  course  he  joined  the  staff 
of  the  Acadceum,  where  his 
signed  contributions  came  to 
be  looked  for  with  profound  re- 
spect by  the  public  and  with 
fear  and  trembling  by  authors. 
For  Maunders'  criticism  was  so 
very  superior,  even  for  the 
Acadczum,  of  which  the  trade 
motto  was  "  Stop  here  for  Criti- 
cism—  superior  to  anything  in 
the  literary  market."  Maunders 
flayed  and  excoriated 
Marsyas  till  the  world 
accepted  him  as  Apollo. 

What  Maunders  was 
most  down  upon  was 
novel-writing.  Not 
having  to  follow  them 
himself,  he  had  high 
ideals  of  art ;  and  woe 
to  the  unfortunate  au- 
thor who  thought  he 
had  literary  and  artistic 
instinct  when  he  had 
only  pen  and  paper. 
Maunders  was  especially  severe  upon  the  novels  of  young 
authors,  with  their  affected  style  and  jejune  ideas.  Perhaps 
the  most  brilliant  criticism  he  ever  wrote  was  a  merciless 
dissection  of  a  book  of  this  sort,  reeking  with  the  insincerity 


•'        \  — 


THE  GREAT   CRITIC. 


174  AN  HONEST  LOG-ROLLER. 

and  crudity  of  youth,  full  of  accumulated  ignorance  of  life, 
and  brazening  it  out  by  flashy  cynicism. 

A  week  after  this  notice  appeared,  his  oldest  and  dearest 
friend  called  upon  him  and  asked  him  for  an  explanation. 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  said  Maunders. 

"  When  I  read  your  slashing  notice  of  '  A  Fingersnap  for 
Fate,'  I  at  once  got  the  book." 

"What!  After  I  had  disembowelled  it;  after  I  had 
shown  it  was  a  stale  sausage  stuffed  with  old  and  putrid 
ideas?" 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  his  friend,  a  little  crest- 
fallen at  having  to  confess,  "  I  always  get  the  books  you 
pitch  into.  So  do  lots  of  people.  We  are  only  plain, 
ordinary,  homespun  people,  you  know;  so  we  feel  sure 
that  whatever  you  praise  will  be  too  superior  for  us,  while 
what  you  condemn  will  suit  us  to  a  /.  That  is  why  the 
great  public  studies  and  respects  your  criticisms.  You  are 
our  literary  pastor  and  monitor.  Your  condemnation  is 
our  guide-post,  and  your  praise  is  our  Index  Expurgatorius. 
But  for  you  we  should  be  lost  in  the  wilderness  of  new 
books." 

"  And  this  is  all  the  result  of  my  years  of  laborious  criti- 
cism," fumed  the  Acadceum  critic.  "  Proceed,  sir." 

"  Well,  what  I  came  to  say  was,  that  if  my  memory  does 
not  play  me  a  trick  after  all  these  years,  *  A  Fingersnap  for 
Fate '  is  your  long-lost  novel." 

"  What !  "  shrieked  the  great  critic ;  "  my  long-lost  child  ! 
Impossible." 

"  Yes,"  persisted  his  oldest  and  dearest  friend.  "  I  recog- 
nised it  by  the  strawberry  mark  in  Cap.  II.,  where  the  hero 
compares  the  younger  generation  to  fresh  strawberries 
smothered  in  stale  cream.  I  remember  your  reading  it  to 
me!" 


AN  HONEST  LOG-ROLLER.  175 

"Heavens!  The  whole  thing  comes  back  to  me,"  cried 
the  critic.  "  Now  I  know  why  I  damned  it  so  unmercifully 
for  plagiarism  !  All  the  while  I  was  reading  it,  there  was  a 
strange,  haunting  sense  of  familiarity." 

"  But,  surely  you  will  expose  the  thief !  " 

"  How  can  I  ?  It  would  mean  confessing  that  I  wrote 
the  book  myself.  That  I  slated  it  savagely,  is  nothing. 
That  will  pass  as  a  good  joke,  if  not  a  piece  of  rare  modesty. 
But  confess  myself  the  author  of  such  a  wretched  failure  !  " 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  his  friend.  "  It  is  not  a  failure.  It 
is  a  very  popular  success.  It  is  selling  like  wildfire. 
Excuse  the  inaccurate  simile ;  but  you  know  what  I  mean. 
Your  notice  has  sent  the  sale  up  tremendously.  Ever 
since  your  notice  appeared,  the  printing  presses  have  been 
going  day  and  night  and  are  utterly  unable  to  cope  with 
the  demand.  Oh,  you  must  not  let  a  rogue  make  a  fortune 
out  of  you  like  this.  That  would  be  too  sinful." 

So  the  great  critic  sought  out  the  thief.  And  they  di- 
vided the  profits.  And  then  the  thief,  who  was  a  fool  as  well 
as  a  rogue,  wrote  another  book  —  all  out  of  his  own  head 
this  time.  And  the  critic  slated  it.  And  they  divided  the 
profits. 


A  Tragi-Comedy  of  Creeds. 


NOT  much  before  midnight  in  a  midland  town  —  a  thriv- 
ing commercial  town,  whose  dingy  back  streets  swarmed 
with  poverty  and  piety  —  a  man  in  a  soft  felt  hat  and  a 
white  tie  was  hurrying  home  over  a  bridge  that  spanned 
a  dark  crowded  river.  He  had  missed  the  tram,  and  did 
not  care  to  be  seen  out  late,  but  he  could  not  afford  a  cab. 
Suddenly  he  felt  a  tug  at  his  long  black  coat-tail.  Vaguely 
alarmed  and  definitely  annoyed,  he  turned  round  quickly. 
A  breathless,  roughly-clad,  rugged-featured  man  loosed  his 
hold  of  the  skirt. 

"'Scuse  me,  sir — I've  been  running,"  gasped  the  stranger, 
placing  his  horny  hand  on  his  breast  and  panting. 

"What  is  it?  What  do  you  want?"  said  the  gentleman 
impatiently. 

"  My  wife's  dying,"  jerked  the  man. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  murmured  the  gentleman  incredulously, 
expecting  some  conventional  street-plea. 

"  Awful  sudden  attack  —  this  last  of  hers  —  only  came  on 
an  hour  ago." 

"  I'm  not  a  doctor." 

"  No,  sir,  I  know.  I  don't  want  a  doctor.  He's  there 
and  only  gives  her  ten  minutes  to  live.  Come  with  me  at 
once,  please." 

"  Come  with  you?    Why,  what  good  can  I  do? " 

"  You're  a  clergyman  !  " 

"  A  clergyman  !  "  repeated  the  other. 
176 


A    TRAGI-COMEDY  OF  CREEDS.  177 

"  Yes  —  aren't  you?  " 

The  wearer  of  the  white  tie  looked  embarrassed. 

"Ye-es,"  he  stammered.  "In  a  —  in  a  way.  But  I'm 
not  the  sort  of  clergyman  your  wife  will  be  wanting." 

"No?"  said  the  man,  puzzled  and  pained.  Then  with 
a  sudden  dread  in  his  voice :  "  You're  not  a  Catholic 
clergyman  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  unhesitating  reply. 

"  Oh,  then  it's  all  right ! "  cried  the  man,  relieved. 
"  Come  with  me,  sir,  for  God's  sake.  Don't  let  us  waste 
time."  His  face  was  lit  up  with  anxious  appeal. 

But  still  the  clergyman  hesitated. 

"  You're  making  a  mistake,"  he  murmured.  "  I  am  not 
a  Christian  clergyman."  He  turned  to  resume  his  walk. 

"  Not  a  Christian  clergyman  !  "  exclaimed  the  man,  as 
who  should  say  "  not  a  black  negro  ! " 

"  No  —  I  am  a  Jewish  minister." 

"  That  don't  matter,"  broke  in  the  man,  almost  before  he 
could  finish  the  sentence.  "  As  long  as  you're  not  a  Catho- 
lic. Oh,  don't  go  away  now,  sir ! "  His  voice  broke 
piteously.  "  Don't  go  away  after  I've  been  chasing  you  for 
five  minutes  —  I  saw  your  rig-out  —  I  beg  pardon,  your 
coat  and  hat  —  in  the  distance  just  as  I  came  out  of  the 
house.  Walk  back  with  me,  anyhow,"  he  pleaded,  seeing 
the  Jew's  hesitation,  "  Oh  !  for  pity's  sake,  walk  back  with 
me  at  once  and  we  can  discuss  it  as  we  go  along.  I  know 
I  should  never  get  hold  of  another  parson  in  time  at  this 
hour  of  the  night." 

The  man's  accents  were  so  poignant,  his  anxiety  was  so 
apparently  sincere,  that  the  minister's  humanity  could 
scarcely  resist  the  solicitation  to  walk  back  at  least.  He 
would  still  have  time  to  decide  whether  to  enter  the  house 
or  not  —  whether  the  case  were  genuine  or  a  mere  trap 


178  A    TRAGI-COMEDY   OF  CREEDS. 

concealing  robbery  or  worse.  The  man  took  a  short  cut 
through  evil-looking  slums  that  did  not  increase  the  minis- 
ter's confidence.  He  wondered  what  his  flock  would  think 
if  they  saw  their  pastor  in  such  company.  He  was  a  young 
unmarried  minister,  and  the  reputation  of  such  in  provincial 
Jewish  congregations,  overflowing  with  religion  and  tittle- 
tattle,  is  as  a  pretty  unprotected  orphan  girl's. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  your  own  clergyman  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I've  got  none,"  said  the  man  half-apologetically.  "  I 
don't  believe  in  nothing  myself.  But  you  know  what  women 
are!" 

The  minister  sniffed,  but  did  not  deny  the  weakness  of 
the  sex. 

"  Betsy  goes  to  some  place  or  other  every  Sunday  almost ; 
sometimes  she's  there  and  back  from  a  service  before  I'm 
up,  and  so  long  as  the  breakfast's  ready  I  don't  mind.  I 
don't  ask  her  no  questions,  and  in  return  she  don't  bother 
about  my  soul  —  leastways,  not  for  these  ten  years,  ever 
since  she's  had  kids  to  convert.  We  get  along  all  right,  the 
missus  and  me  and  the  kids.  Oh,  but  it's  all  come  to  an 
end  now,"  he  concluded,  with  a  sob. 

"  Yes,  but  my  good  fellow,"  protested  the  minister,  "  I 
told  you  you  were  making  a  mistake.  You  know  nothing 
about  religion ;  but  what  your  wife  wants  is  some  one  to 
talk  to  her  of  Jesus,  or  to  give  her  the  Sacrament,  or  the 
Confession,  or  something,  for  I  confess  I'm  not  very  clear 
about  the  forms  of  Christianity ;  and  I  haven't  got  any  wafers 
or  things  of  that  sort.  No,  I  couldn't  do  it,  even  if  I  had 
a  mind  to.  It  would  ruin  my  position  if  it  were  known. 
But  apart  from  that,  I  really  can't  do  it.  I  wouldn't  know 
what  to  say,  and  I  couldn't  bring  my  tongue  to  say  it  if  I  did." 

"Oh,  but  you  believe  in  something?"  persisted  the  man 
piteously. 


A    TRAGICOMEDY  OF  CREEDS.  179 

"  H'm  !  Yes,  I  can't  deny  that,"  said  the  minister ;  "but 
it's  not  the  same  something  that  your  wife  believes  in. " 

"  You  believe  in  a  God,  don't  you?  " 

The  minister  felt  a  bit  chagrined  at  being  catechised  in 
the  elements  of  his  religion. 

"  Of  course  !  "  he  said  fretfully. 

"  There  !  I  knew  it,"  cried  the  man  in  triumph.  "  None 
of  us  do  in  our  shop  ;  but,  of  course,  clergymen  are  different. 
But  if  you  believe  in  a  God,  that's  enough,  ain't  it?  You're 
both  religious  folk." 

"  No,  it  isn't  enough  —  at  least,  not  for  your  wife." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  needn't  let  out,  sir,  need  you  ?  So  long 
as  you  talk  of  God  and  keep  clear  of  the  Pope.  I've  heard 
her  going  on  about  a  Scarlet  Woman  to  the  kids.  (God 
bless  their  little  hearts  !  I  wonder  what  they'll  do  without 
her  !)  She'll  never  know,  sir,  and  she'll  die  happy.  I've 
done  my  duty.  She  whispered  I  wasn't  to  bring  a  Roman 
Catholic,  poor  thing.  I  fancy  I  heard  her  say  once  they're 
even  worse  than  Jews.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,  sir.  You're 
sure  you're  not  a  Roman  Catholic?  "  he  concluded  anxiously. 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  Well,  sir,  you'll  keep  the  rest  dark,  won't  you?  There's 
no  call  to  let  out  you  don't  believe  the  same  other  things  as 
her." 

"  I  shall  tell  no  lie,"  said  the  minister  firmly.  "  You  have 
called  me  in  to  give  consolation  to  your  dying  wife,  and  I 
shall  do  my  duty  as  best  I  can.  Is  this  the  house?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  —  right  at  the  top." 

The  minister  conquered  a  last  impulse  of  mistrust,  and 
looked  round  cautiously  to  be  sure  he  was  unobserved. 
Charity  was  not  a  strong  point  with  his  flock,  and  certainly 
his  proceedings  were  suspicious.  Even  if  they  learnt  the 
truth,  he  was  not  at  all  sure  they  would  not  consider  his 


180  A    TRAGI-COMEDY  OF  CREEDS. 

praying  with  a  dying  Christian  akin  to  blasphemy.  On  the 
whole  he  must  be  credited  with  some  courage  in  mounting 
that  black,  ill-smelling,  interminable  staircase.  He  found 
himself  in  a  gloomy  garret  at  last,  lighted  by  an  oil-lamp. 
A  haggard  woman  lay  with  shut  eyes  on  an  iron  bed,  her 
chilling  hands  clasping  the  hands  of  the  "  converted  "  kids, 
a  boy  of  ten  and  a  girl  of  seven,  who  stood  blubbering  in 
their  night-attire.  The  doctor  leaned  against  the  head  of 
the  bed,  the  ungainly  shadows  of  the  group  sprawling  across 
the  blank  wall.  He  had  done  all  he  could  —  without  hope 
of  payment  —  to  ease  the  poor  woman's  last  moments.  He 
was  a  big-brained,  large-hearted  Irishman,  a  Roman  Catholic, 
who  thought  science  and  religion  might  be  the  best  of  friends. 
The  husband  looked  at  him  in  frantic  interrogation. 

"  You  are  not  too  late,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  said  the  atheist.  "  Betsy,  old  girl,  here 
is  the  clergyman." 

The  cloud  seemed  to  pass  off  the  blind  face,  and  a  wave 
of  wan  sunlight  to  traverse  it ;  slowly  the  eyes  opened,  the 
hands  withdrew  themselves  from  the  children's  grasp,  and 
the  palms  met  for  prayer. 

"  Christ  Jesus  —  "  began  the  lips  mechanically. 

The  minister  was  hot  with  confusion  and  a-quiver  with 
emotion.  He  knew  not  what  to  say,  as  automatically  he 
drew  out  a  Hebrew  prayer-book  from  his  pocket  and  began 
reading  the  Deathbed  Confession  in  the  English  version 
that  appeared  on  the  alternate  pages. 

"  I  acknowledge  unto  Thee,  O  Lord,  my  God,  and  the 
God  of  my  fathers,  that  both  my  cure  and  my  death  are  in 
Thy  hands  ..."  As  he  read,  the  dying  lips  moved, 
mumbling  the  words  after  him.  How  often  had  those  white 
lips  prayed  that  the  stiff-necked  Jews  might  find  grace  and 
be  saved  from  damnation ;  how  often  had  those  poor,  rough 


A    TRAGI-COMEDY  OF  CREEDS.  181 

hands  put  pennies  into  conversionist  collecting-boxes  after 
toiling  hard  to  scrape  them  together ;  so  that  only  she  might 
suffer  by  their  diversion  from  the  household  treasury. 

The  prayer  went  on,  the  mournful  monotone  thrilling 
through  the  hot,  dim,  oil-reeking  attic,  and  awing  the  weep- 
ing children  into  silence.  The  atheist  stood  by  reverently, 
torn  by  conflicting  emotions  ;  glad  the  poor  foolish  creature 
had  her  wish,  and  on  thorns  lest  she  should  live  long  enough 
to  discover  the  deception.  There  was  no  room  in  his  over- 
charged heart  for  personal  grief  just  then.  "  Make  known 
to  me  the  path  of  life  ;  in  Thy  presence  is  fulness  of  joy ;  at 
Thy  right  hand  are  pleasures  for  evermore."  An  ecstatic 
look  overspread  the  plain,  careworn  face,  she  stretched  out 
her  arms  as  if  to  embrace  some  unseen  vision. 

"Yes,  I  am  coming  .  .  .  Jesus,"  she  murmured.  Then 
her  hands  dropped  heavily  upon  her  breast ;  the  face  grew 
rigid,  the  eyes  closed.  Involuntarily  the  minister  seized 
the  hand  nearest  him.  He  felt  it  respond  faintly  to 
his  clasp  in  unconsciousness  of  the  pagan  pollution  of  his 
touch.  He  read  on,  "Thou  who  art  the  Father  of  the 
fatherless  and  the  Judge  of  the  widow,  protect  my  beloved 
kindred  with  whose  soul  my  own  is  knit." 

The  lips  still  echoed  him  almost  imperceptibly,  the  de- 
parting spirit  lulled  into  peace  by  the  prayer  of  the  un- 
believer. "  Into  Thy  hand  I  commend  my  spirit.  Thou 
hast  redeemed  me,  O  Lord  God  of  truth.  Amen  and  Amen." 

And  in  that  last  Amen,  with  a  final  gleam  of  blessedness 
flitting  across  her  sightless  face,  the  poor  Christian  toiler 
breathed  out  her  life  of  pain,  holding  the  Jew's  hand. 
There  was  a  moment  of  solemn  silence,  the  three  men  be- 
coming as  the  little  children  in  the  presence  of  the  eternal 
mystery. 


182  A    TRAGI-COMEDY  OF  CREEDS. 

It  leaked  out,  as  everything  did  in  that  gossipy  town, 
and  among  that  gossipy  Jewish  congregation.  To  the  min- 
ister's relief,  his  flock  took  it  better  than  he  expected. 

"  What  a  blessed  privilege  for  that  heathen  female  !  " 
was  all  their  comment. 


The  Memory  Clearing  House. 


WHEN  I  moved  into  better  quarters  on  the  strength  of  the 
success  of  my  first  novel,  I  little  dreamt  that  I  was  about 
to  be  the  innocent  instrument  of  a  new  epoch  in  telepathy. 
My  poor  Geraldine  —  but  I  must  be  calm  ;  it  would  be 
madness  to  let  them  suspect  I  am  insane.  No,  these  last 
words  must  be  final.  I  cannot  afford  to  have  them  dis- 
credited. I  cannot  afford  any  luxuries  now. 

Would  to  Heaven  I  had  never  written  that  first  novel  ! 
Then  I  might  still  have  been  a  poor,  unhappy,  struggling, 
realistic  novelist;  I  might  still  have  been  residing  at  109, 
Little  Tnrncot  Street,  Chapelby  Road,  St.  Pancras.  But  I 
do  not  blame  Providence.  I  knew  the  book  was  conven- 
tional even  before  it  succeeded.  My  only  consolation  is 
that  Geraldine  was  part-author  of  my  misfortunes,  if  not  of 
my  novel.  She  it  was  who  urged  me  to  abandon  my  high 
ideals,  to  marry  her,  and  live  happily  ever  afterwards.  She 
said  if  I  wrote  only  one  bad  book  it  would  be  enough  to 
establish  my  reputation ;  that  I  could  then  command  my 
own  terms  for  the  good  ones.  I  fell  in  with  her  proposal, 
the  banns  were  published,  and  we  were  bound  together.  I 
wrote  a  rose-tinted  romance,  which  no  circulating  library 
could  be  without,  instead  of  the  veracious  picture  of  life  I 
longed  to  paint;  and  I  moved  from  109,  Little  Turncot 
Street,  Chapelby  Road,  St.  Pancras,  to  22,  Albert  Flats, 
Victoria  Square,  Westminster. 

A  few  days  after  we  had  sent  out  the  cards,  I  met  my 
183 


184  THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 

friend  O'Donovan,  late  member  for  Blackthorn.  He  was 
an  Irishman  by  birth  and  profession,  but  the  recent  General 
Election  had  thrown  him  out  of  work.  The  promise  of  his 
boyhood  and  of  his  successful  career  at  Trinity  College  was 
great,  but  in  later  years  he  began  to  manifest  grave  symptoms 
of  genius.  I  have  heard  whispers  that  it  was  in  the  family, 
though  he  kept  it  from  his  wife.  Possibly  I  ought  not  to 


"URGED   ME  TO  ABANDON   MY  HIGH   IDEALS." 

have  sent  him  a  card  and  have  taken  the  opportunity  of 
dropping  his  acquaintance.  But  Geraldine  argued  that  he 
was  not  dangerous,  and  that  we  ought  to  be  kind  to  him 
just  after  he  had  come  out  of  Parliament. 

O'Donovan  was  in  a  rage. 

"  I  never  thought  it  of  you  !  "  he  said  angrily,  when  I 
asked  him  how  he  was.  He  had  a  good  Irish  accent,  but 
he  only  used  it  when  addressing  his  constituents. 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE.  185 

"  Never  thought  what?  "  I  enquired  in  amazement. 

"  That  you  would  treat  your  friends  so  shabbily." 

"Wh-what,   didn't   yoii   g-get   a   card?"    I    stammered. 
"  I'm  sure  the  wife  —  " 

"  Don't  be  a  fool !  "  he 
interrupted.  "  Of  course  I 
got  a  card.  That's  what  I 
complain  of." 

I  stared  at  him  blankly. 
The  social  experiences  re- 
sulting from  my  marriage 
had  convinced  me  that  it 
was  impossible  to  avoid  giv- 
ing offence.  I  had  no  rea- 
son to  be  surprised,  but  I 
was. 

"What  right  have  you 
to  move  and  put  all  your 
friends  to  trouble?  "  he  en- 
quired savagely. 

"  I  have  put  myself  to 
trouble,"  I  said,  "  but  I  fail 
to  see  how  I  have  taxed 
your  friendship." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  he 
growled.    "  I  didn't  expect 
you  to  see.     You're  just  as 
inconsiderate  as  everybody         ,,0>DONOVAN  WAS  IN  A  ^^ 
else.     Don't    you   think   I 

had  enough  trouble  to  commit  to  memory  '  109,  Little 
Turncot  Street,  Chapelby  Road,  St.  Pancras,'  without  being 
unexpectedly  set  to  study  '21,  Victoria  Flats  —  ? '  " 

"  22,  Albert  Flats,"  I  interrupted  mildly- 


186 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


"  There  you  are  !  "  he  snarled. 
"You  see  already  how  it  har- 
asses my  poor  brain.  I  shall 
never  remember  it." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  will,"  I  said  de- 
precatingly.  "  It  is  much  easier 
than  the  old  address.  Listen 
here  !  '  2  2,  Albert  Flats,  Victoria 
Square,  Westminster.'  22  —  a 
symmetrical  number,  the  first 
double  even  number;  the  first 
is  two,  the  second  is  two,  too, 
and  the  whole  is  two,  two,  too  — 
quite  aesthetical,  you  know.  Then 
all  the  rest  is  royal  —  Albert, 
Albert  the  Good,  see.  Victoria 
—  the  Queen.  Westminster  — 
Westminster  Palace.  And  the 
other  words  —  geometrical  terms,  Flat,  Square.  Why,  there 
never  was  such  an  easy  address  since  the  days  of  Adam 
before  he  moved  out  of  Eden,"  I  concluded  enthusiastically. 
"  It's  easy  enough  for  you,  no  doubt,"  he  said,  unappeased. 
"  But  do  you  think  you're  the  only  acquaintance  who's  not 
contented  with  his  street  and  number  ?  Bless  my  soul,  with 
a  large  circle  like  mine,  I  find  myself  charged  with  a  new 
schoolboy  task  twice  a  month.  I  shall  have  to  migrate  to 
a  village  where  people  have  more  stability  of  character. 
Heavens  !  Why  have  snails  been  privileged  with  a  domicili- 
ary constancy  denied  to  human  beings?" 

"But  you  ought  to  be  grateful,"  I  urged  feebly.  "Think 
of  22,  Albert  Flats,  Victoria  Square,  Westminster,  and  then 
think  of  what  I  might  have  moved  to.  If  I  have  given  you 
an  imposition,  at  least  admit  it  is  a  light  one." 


'THERE  NEVER   WAS   SUCH  AN 
EASY    ADDRESS.'" 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE.  187 

"  It  isn't  so  much  the  new  address  I  complain  of,  it's 
the  old.  Just  imagine  what  a  weary  grind  it  has  been  to 
master  —  '109,  Little  Turncot  Street,  Chapelby  Road,  St. 
Pancras.'  For  the  last  eighteen  months  I  have  been  grap- 
pling with  it,  and  now,  just  as  I  am  letter  perfect  and  post- 
card secure,  behold  all  my  labour  destroyed,  all  my  pains 
made  ridiculous.  It's  the  waste  that  vexes  me.  Here  is 
a  piece  of  information,  slowly  and  laboriously  acquired,  yet 
absolutely  useless.  Nay,  worse  than  useless;  a  positive 
hindrance.  For  I  am  just  as  slow  at  forgetting  as  at  picking 
up.  Whenever  I  want  to  think  of  your  address,  up  it  will 
spring,  '  109,  Little  Turncot  Street,  Chapelby  Road,  St. 
Pancras.'  It  cannot  be  scotched  —  it  must  lie  there  block- 
ing up  my  brains,  a  heavy,  uncouth  mass,  always  ready  to 
spring  at  the  wrong  moment ;  a  possession  of  no  value  to 
anyone  but  the  owner,  and  not  the  least  use  to  him" 

He  paused,  brooding  on  the  thought  in  moody  silence. 
Suddenly  his  face  changed. 

"But  isn't  it  of  value  to  anybody  but  the  owner?"  he 
exclaimed  excitedly.  "  Are  there  not  persons  in  the  world 
who  would  jump  at  the  chance  of  acquiring  it  ?  Don't  stare 
at  me  as  if  I  was  a  comet.  Look  here  !  Suppose  some  one 
had  come  to  me  eighteen  months  ago  and  said, '  Patrick,  old 
man,  I  have  a  memory  I  don't  want.  It's  109,  Little  Turn- 
cot  Street,  Chapelby  Road,  St.  Pancras  !  You're  welcome 
to  it,  if  it's  any  use  to  you.'  Don't  you  think  I  would  have 
fallen  on  that  man's  —  or  woman's  —  neck,  and  watered  it 
with  my  tears?  Just  think  what  a  saving  of  brain-force  it 
would  have  been  to  me  —  how  many  petty  vexations  it  would 
have  spared  me  !  See  here,  then  !  Is  your  last  place  let  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     "  A  Mr.  Marrow  has  it  now." 

"  Ha  !  "  he  said,  with  satisfaction.  "  Now  there  must  be 
lots  of  Mr.  Marrow's  friends  in  the  same  predicament  as  I 


188 


THE  MEMORY   CLEARING  HOUSE. 


was —  people  whose  brains  are  softening  in  the  effort  to 
accommodate  '  109,  Little  Turncot  Street,  Chapelby  Road, 
St.  Pancras.'  Psychical  science  has  made  such  great  strides 
in  this  age  that  with  a  little  ingenuity  it  should  surely  not  be 
impossible  to  transfer  the  memory  of  it  from  my  brain  to 
theirs." 

"  But,"  I  gasped,  "  even  if  it  was  possible,  why  should  you 
give  away  what  you  don't  want?    That  would  be  charity." 


"PEOPLE   WHOSE    BRAINS    ARE 
SOFTENING.'" 


"You  do  not  suspect  me  of  that?"  he  cried  reproach- 
fully. "  No,  my  ideas  are  not  so  primitive.  For  don't  you 
see  that  there  is  a  memory  /want  — '33,  Royal  Flats  —  '" 

"  22,  Albert  Flats,"  I  murmured  shamefacedly. 

"22,  Albert  Flats,"  he  repeated  witheringly.  "You  see 
how  badly  I  want  it.  Well,  what  I  propose  is  to  exchange 
my  memory  of  '  109,  Little  Turncot  Street,  Chapelby  Road, 
St.  Pancras  '  "  (he  always  rolled  it  slowly  on  his  tongue  with 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


189 


morbid  self-torture  and  almost  intolerable  reproachfulness), 
"  for  the  memory  of '  22,  Albert  Square.'  " 

"  But  you  forget,"  I  said,  though  I  lacked  the  courage  to 
correct  him  again,  "that  the  people  who  want  '  109,  Little 
Turncot  Street,'  are  not  the  people  who  possess  '  22,  Albert 
Flats.' " 

"  Precisely ;  the  principle  of  direct  exchange  is  not  feas- 
ible. What  is  wanted, 
therefore,  is  a  Memory 
Clearing  House.  If  I 
can  only  discover  the 
process  of  thought-trans- 
ference, I  will  establish 
one,  so  as  to  bring  the 
right  parties  into  com- 
munication. Everybody 
who  has  old  memories 
to  dispose  of  will  send 
me  in  particulars.  At 
the  end  of  each  week  I 
will  publish  a  catalogue 
of  the  memories  in  the 
market,  and  circulate  it 
among  my  subscribers, 
who  will  pay,  say,  a 
guinea  a  year.  When 
the  subscriber  reads  his  catalogue  and  lights  upon  any 
memory  he  would  like  to  have,  he  will  send  me  a  postcard, 
and  I  will  then  bring  him  into  communication  with  the  pro- 
prietor, taking,  of  course,  a  commission  upon  the  transac- 
tion. Doubtless,  in  time,  there  will  be  a  supplementary 
catalogue  devoted  to  '  Wants,'  which  may  induce  people  to 
scour  their  brains  for  half-forgotten  reminiscences,  or  per- 


'THE   SUBSCRIBER   READS   HIS 
CATALOGUE.' " 


190 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


suade  them  to  give  up  memories  they  would  never  have 
parted  with  otherwise.  Well,  my  boy,  what  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

"  It  opens  up  endless  perspectives,"  I  said,  half-dazed. 
"  It  will  be  the  greatest  invention  ever  known  !  "  he  cried, 
inflaming  himself  more  and  more.     "  It  will  change  human 

life,  it  will  make  a  new 
epoch,  it  will  effect  a 
greater  economy  of  hu- 
man force  than  all  the 
machines  under  the  sun. 
Think  of  the  saving  of 
nerve-tissue,  think  of  the 
prevention  of  brain-irrita- 
tion. Why,  we  shall  all 
live  longer  through  it  — 
centenarians  will  become 
as  cheap  as  American  mil- 
lionaires." 

Live  longer  through  it ! 
Alas,  the  mockery  of  the 
recollection  !  He  left  me, 
his  face  working  wildly. 
For  days  the  vision  of  it 
interrupted  my  own  work. 
At  last,  I  could  bear  the 
suspense  no  more  and  went  to  his  house.  I  found  him  in 
ecstasies  and  his  wife  in  tears.  She  was  beginning  to  sus- 
pect the  family  skeleton. 

"  Eureka  !  "  he  was  shouting.     "  Eureka  !  " 
"What  is  the  matter?"  sobbed  the  poor  woman.     "Why 
don't  you  speak  English  ?     He  has  been  going  on  like  this 
for  the  last  five  minutes,"  she  added,  turning  pitifully  to  me. 


; 


WHAT   IS   THE   MATTER?" 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE.  191 

"  Eureka  !  "  shouted  O'Donovan.  "  I  must  say  it.  No 
new  invention  is  complete  without  it." 

"  Bah  !  I  didn't  think  you  were  so  conventional,"  I  said 
contemptuously.  "  I  suppose  you  have  found  out  how  to 
make  the  memory-transferring  machine?" 

"  I  have,"  he  cried  exultantly.  "  I  shall  christen  it  the 
noemagraph,  or  thought-writer.  The  impression  is  received 
on  a  sensitised  plate  which  acts  as  a  medium  between  the 
two  minds.  The  brow  of  the  purchaser  is  pressed  against  the 
plate,  through  which  a  current  of  electricity  is  then  passed." 

He  rambled  on  about  volts  and  dynamic  psychometry 
and  other  hard  words,  which,  though  they  break  no  bones, 
should  be  strictly  confined  in  private  dictionaries. 

"  I  am  awfully  glad  you  came  in,"  he  said,  resuming  his 
mother  tongue  at  last  —  "because  if  you  won't  charge  me 
anything  I  will  try  the  first  experiment  on  you." 

I  consented  reluctantly,  and  in  two  minutes  he  rushed 
about  the  room  triumphantly  shouting,  "  22,  Albert  Flats, 
Victoria  Square,  Westminster,"  till  he  was  hoarse.  But 
for  his  enthusiasm  I  should  have  suspected  he  had  crammed 
up  my  address  on  the  sly. 

He  started  the  Clearing  House  forthwith.  It  began 
humbly  as  an  attic  in  the  Strand.  The  first  number  of  the 
catalogue  was  naturally  meagre.  He  was  good  enough  to 
put  me  on  the  free  list,  and  I  watched  with  interest  the 
development  of  the  enterprise.  He  had  canvassed  his 
acquaintances  for  subscribers,  and  begged  everybody  he 
met  to  send  him  particulars  of  their  cast-off  memories. 
When  he  could  afford  to  advertise  a  little,  his  clientele  in- 
creased. There  is  always  a  public  for  anything  bizarre,  and 
a  percentage  of  the  population  would  send  thirteen  stamps 
for  the  Philosopher's  Stone,  post  free.  Of  course,  the  rest 
of  the  population  smiled  at  him  for  an  ingenious  quack. 


192  THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 

The  "  Memories  on  Sale  "  catalogue  grew  thicker  and 
thicker.  The  edition  issued  to  the  subscribers  contained 
merely  the  items,  but  O'Donovan's  copy  comprised  also  the 
names  and  addresses  of  the  vendors,  and  now  and  again 
he  allowed  me  to  have  a  peep  at  it  in  strict  confidence. 
The  inventor  himself  had  not  foreseen  the  extraordinary 
uses  to  which  his  noemagraph  would  be  put,  nor  the  ex- 
traordinary developments  of  his  business.  Here  are  some 
specimens  culled  at  random  from  No.  13  of  the  Clearing 
House  catalogue  when  O'Donovan  still  limited  himself  to 
facilitating  the  sale  of  superfluous  memories  :  — 


I.   25,  Portsdown  Avenue,  MaiJa.  Vale. 
3.    13502,  17208  (banknote  numbers). 

12.  History  of  England  (a  few  Saxon  kings  missing),  as  successful  in 
a  recent  examination  by  the  College  of  Preceptors.  Adapted  to 
the  requirements  of  candidates  for  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
Local  and  the  London  Matriculation. 

17.  Paley's  Evidences,  together  with  a  job  lot  of  dogmatic  theology 
(second-hand),  a  valuable  collection  by  a  clergyman  recently 
ordained,  who  has  no  further  use  for  them. 

26.  A  dozen  whist  wrinkles,  as  used  by  a  retiring  speculator.  Exces- 
sively cheap. 

29.  Mathematical  formulae  (complete  sets;  all  the  latest  novelties  and 
improvements,  including  those  for  the  higher  plane  curves,  and 
a  selection  of  the  most  useful  logarithms),  the  property  of  a 
dying  Senior  Wrangler.  Applications  must  be  immediate,  and 
no  payment  need  be  made  to  the  heirs  till  the  will  has  been 
proved. 

35.  Arguments  in  favour  of  Home  Rule  (warranted  sound) ;  propri- 
etor, distinguished  Gladstonian  M.P.,  has  made  up  his  mind  to 
part  with  them  at  a  sacrifice.  Eminently  suitable  for  bye- 
elections.  Principals  only. 

58.  Witty  wedding  speech,  as  delivered  amid  great  applause  by  a 
bridegroom.  Also  an  assortment  of  toasts,  jocose  and  serious, 
in  good  condition.  Reduction  on  taking  a  quantity. 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


193 


Politicians,  clergymen,  and  ex-examinees  soon  became 
the  chief  customers.  Graduates  in  arts  and  science  hastened 
to  discumber  their  memories  of  the  useless  load  of  learning 
which  had  outstayed  its  function  of  getting  them  on  in  the 
world.  Thus  not  only  did  they  make  some  extra  money,  but 
memories  which  would 
otherwise  have  rapidly 
faded  were  turned  over 
to  new  minds  to  play  a 
similarly  beneficent  part 
in  aiding  the  careers  of 
the  owners.  The  fine 
image  of  Lucretius  was 
realised,  and  the  torch  of 
learning  was  handed  on 
from  generation  to  gen- 
eration. Had  O'Dono- 
van's  business  been  as 
widely  known  as  it  de- 
served, the  curse  of  cram 
would  have  gone  to  roost 
for  ever,  and  a  finer  phys- 
ical race  of  Englishmen 
would  have  been  pro- 
duced. In  the  hands  of 
honest  students  the  in- 
vention might  have  pro- 
duced intellectual  giants,  for  each  scholar  could  have  started 
where  his  predecessor  left  off,  and  added  more  to  his  wealth 
of  lore,  the  moderns  standing  upon  the  shoulders  of  the 
ancients  in  a  more  literal  sense  than  Bacon  dreamed.  The 
memory  of  Macaulay,  which  all  Englishmen  rightly  rever- 
ence, might  have  been  possessed  by  his  schoolboy.  As  it 


'A   CLERGYMAN   RECENTLY  ORDAINED.' 


194 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


was,  omniscient  idiots  abounded,  left  colossally  wise  by  their 
fathers,  whose  painfully  acquired  memories  they  inherited 
without    the    intelligence    to    utilise 
them. 

O'Donovan's  Parliamentary  connec- 
tion was  a  large  one,  doubtless  merely 
because  of  his  former  position  and  his 
consequent  contact  with  political  cir- 
cles. Promises  to  constituents  were 
always  at  a  discount,  the  supply  being 
immensely  in  excess  of  the  demand ; 
indeed,  promises  generally  were  a 
drug  in  the  market. 

Instead  of  issuing  the  projected 
supplemental  catalogue  of  "  Memo- 
ries Wanted,"  O'Donovan  by  this  time 
saw  his  way  to  buying  them  up  on 
spec.  He  was  not  satisfied  with  his 
commission.  He  had  learnt  by  ex- 
_  __  perience  the  kinds  that  went  best,  such 

/Y  \    I  as  exam,  answers,  but  he  resolved  to 

*•">    '  have  all  sorts  and  be  remembered  as 

the  Whiteley  of  Memory.     Thus  the 
Clearing  House  very  soon  developed 
THE  OMNISCIENT         into  a  storehouse.     O'Donovan's  ad- 
IDIOT.  vertisement  ran  thus  :  — 


WANTED!  Wanted!  Wanted!  Memories!  Memories!  Best 
Prices  in  the  Trade.  Happy,  Sad,  Bitter,  Sweet  (as  Used  by 
Minor  Poets).  High  Prices  for  Absolutely  Pure  Memories.  Memories, 
Historical,  Scientific,  Pious,  &c.  Good  Memories !  Special  Terms  to 
Liars.  Precious  Memories  (Exeter  Hall-marked).  New  Memories 
for  Old !  Lost  Memories  Recovered  while  you  wait.  Old  Memories 
Turned  equal  to  New. 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


195 


O'Donovan  soon  sported  his  brougham.  Any  day  you 
went  into  the  store  (which  now  occupied  the  whole  of  the 
premises  in  the  Strand)  you  could  see  endless  traffic  going 


"THEY   OFTEN    BROUGHT    SOLICITORS   WITH   THEM." 

on.  I  often  loved  to  watch  it.  People  who  were  tired  of 
themselves  came  here  to  get  a  complete  new  outfit  of  mem- 
ories, and  thus  change  their  identities.  Plaintiffs,  defendants, 
and  witnesses  came  to  be  fitted  with  memories  that  would 
stand  the  test  of  the  oath,  and  they  often  brought  solicitors 


196  THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 

with  them  to  advise  them  in  selecting  from  the  stock.  Coun- 
sel's opinion  on  these  points  was  regarded  as  especially  val- 
uable. Statements  that  would  wash  and  stand  rough  pulling 
about  were  much  sought  after.  Gentlemen  and  ladies  writing 
reminiscences  and  autobiographies  were  to  be  met  with  at 
all  hours,  and  nothing  was  more  pathetic  than  to  see  the 
humble  artisan  investing  his  hard-earned  "  tanner  "  in  recol- 
lections of  a  seaside  holiday. 

In  the  buying-up  department  trade  was  equally  brisk,  and 
people  who  were  hard-up  were  often  forced  to  part  with 
their  tenderest  recollections.  Memories  of  dead  loves  went 
at  five  shillings  a  dozen,  and  all  those  moments  which  people 
had  vowed  never  to  forget  were  sold  at  starvation  prices. 
The  memories  "  indelibly  engraven  "  on  hearts  were  invari- 
ably faded  and  only  sold  as  damaged.  The  salvage  from  the 
most  ardent  fires  of  affection  rarely  paid  the  porterage.  As 
a  rule,  the  dearest  memories  were  the  cheapest.  Of  the 
memory  of  favours  there  was  always  a  glut,  and  often  heaps 
of  diseased  memories  had  to  be  swept  away  at  the  instigation 
of  the  sanitary  inspector.  Memories  of  wrongs  done,  being 
rarely  parted  with  except  when  their  owners  were  at  their 
last  gasp,  fetched  fancy  prices.  Mourners'  memories  ruled 
especially  lively.  In  the  Memory  Exchange,  too,  there  was 
always  a  crowd,  the  temptation  to  barter  worn-out  memories 
for  new  proving  irresistible. 

One  day  O'Donovan  came  to  me,  crying  "Eureka!" 
once  more. 

"  Shut  up  !  "  I  said,  annoyed  by  the  idiotic  Hellenicism. 

"  Shut  up  !  Why,  I  shall  open  ten  more  shops.  I  have 
discovered  the  art  of  duplicating,  triplicating,  polyplicating 
memories.  I  used  only  to  be  able  to  get  one  impression 
out  of  the  sensitised  plate,  now  I  can  get  any  number." 

"  Be  careful !  "  I  said.     "  This  may  ruin  you." 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


197 


"  How  so  ?  "  he  asked  scornfully. 

"  Why,  just  see  —  suppose  you  supply  two  candidates  for 
a  science  degree  with  the  same  chemical  reminiscences,  you 
lay  them  under  a  suspicion  of  copying;  two  after-dinner 
speakers  may  find  themselves  recollecting  the  same  joke  ; 
several  autobiographers  may  remember  their  making  the 
same  remark  to  Gladstone.  Unless  your  customers  can 


"WHEN  THEIR  OWNERS  WERE  AT  THEIR  LAST  GASP." 

be  certain  they  have  the  exclusive  right  in  other  people's 
memories,  they  will  fall  away." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "  I  must  '  Eureka ' 
something  else."  His  Greek  was  as  defective  as  if  he  had 
had  a  classical  education. 

What  he  found  was  "  The  Hire  System."  Some  people 
who  might  otherwise  have  been  good  customers  objected 
to  losing  their  memories  entirely.  They  were  willing  to 
part  with  them  for  a  period.  For  instance,  when  a  man 


198 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


came  up  to  town  or  took  a  run  to  Paris,  he  did  not  mind 
dispensing  with  some  of  his  domestic  recollections,  just  for 
a  change.  People  who  knew  better  than  to  forget  them- 
selves entirely  profited  by  the  opportunity  of  acquiring  the 
funds  for  a  holiday,  merely  by  leaving  some  of  their  memo- 
ries behind  them.  There  were  always  others  ready  to  hire 
for  a  season  the  discarded  bits  of  personality,  and  thus  re- 
morse was  done  away  with,  and  double  lives  became  a  lux- 


!^5£  •      ^*-^.    f=i 
\  ««• 


TWO  AFTER-DINNER   SPEAKERS   RECOLLECTING  THE   SAME  JOKE. 

ury  within  the  reach  of  the  multitude.  To  the  very  poor, 
Q'Donovan's  new  development  proved  an  invaluable  aux- 
iliary to  the  pawn-shop.  On  Monday  mornings,  the  pave- 
ment outside  was  congested  with  wretched-looking  women 
anxious  to  pawn  again  the  precious  memories  they  had 
taken  out  with  Saturday's  wages.  Under  this  hire  system 
it  became  possible  to  pledge  the  memories  of  the  absent 
for  wine  instead  of  in  it.  But  the  most  gratifying  result 
was  its  enabling  pious  relatives  to  redeem  the  memories 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


199 


of  the  dead,  on  payment  of  the  legal  interest.  It  was  great  fun 
to  watch  O'Donovan  strutting  about  the  rooms  of  his  newest 
branch,  swelling  with  pride  like  a  combination  cock  and 
John  Bull. 


WRETCHED-LOOKING  WOMEN  PAWNING  THEIR   MEMORIES. 

The  experiences  he  gained  here  afforded  him  the  .material 
for  a  final  development,  but,  to  be  strictly  chronological,  I 
ought  first  to  mention  the  newspaper  into  which  the  cata- 
logue evolved.  It  was  called  In  Memoriam,  and  was  pub- 
lished at  a  penny,  and  gave  a  prize  of  a  thousand  pounds 
to  any  reader  who  lost  his  memory  on  the  railway,  and  who 


200  THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 

applied  for  the  reward  in  person.  In  Memoriam  dealt  with 
everything  relating  to  memory,  though,  dishonestly  enough, 
the  articles  were  all  original.  So  were  the  advertisements, 
which  were  required  to  have  reference  to  the  objects  of  the 
Clearing  House  —  e.g.t 

A  PHILANTHROPIC  GENTLEMAN  of  good  address,  who  has 
travelled  a  great  deal,  wishes  to  offer  his  addresses  to  impecunious 
young  ladies  (orphans  preferred).     Only  those  genuinely  desirous  of 
changing  their  residences,  and  with  weak  memories,  need  apply. 

And  now  for  the  final  and  fatal  "Eureka.'"  The  anxiety 
of  some  persons  to  hire  out  their  memories  for  a  period  led 
O'Donovan  to  see  that  it  was  absurd  for  him  to  pay  for  the 
use  of  them.  The  owners  were  only  too  glad  to  dodge 
remorse.  He  hit  on  the  sublime  idea  that  they  ought  to 
pay  him.  The  result  was  the  following  advertisement  in  In 
Memoriam  and  its  contemporaries  :  — 

AMNESIA  AGENCY !     O'Donovan's  Anodyne.     Cheap  Forgetful- 
ness  —  Complete  or  Partial.     Easy  Amnesia  —  Temporary  or  Per- 
manent.     Haunting   Memories  Laid!      Consciences  Cleared.      Cares 
carefully  Removed  without   Gas   or  Pain.     The   London   address  of 
Lethe  is  1001,  Strand.     Don't  forget  it. 

Quite  a  new  class  of  customers  rushed  to  avail  themselves 
of  the  new  pathological  institution.  What  attracted  them 
was  having  to  pay.  Hitherto  they  wouldn't  have  gone  if 
you  paid  them,  as  O'Donovan  used  to  do.  Widows  and 
widowers  presented  themselves  in  shoals  for  treatment,  with 
the  result  that  marriages  took  place  even  within  the  year  of 
mourning  —  a  thing  which  obviously  could  not  be  done 
under  any  other  system.  I  wonder  whether  Geraldine  — 
but  let  me  finish  now  ! 

How  well  I  remember  that  bright  summer's  morning 
when,  wooed  without  by  the  liberal  sunshine,  and  disgusted 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE.  201 

with  the  progress  I  was  making  with  my  new  study  in  realistic 
fiction,  I  threw  down  my  pen,  strolled  down  the  Strand,  and 
turned  into  the  Clearing  House.  I  passed  through  the 
selling  department,  catching  a  babel  of  cries  from  the 
counter-jumpers  —  " Two  gross  anecdotes?  Yes,  sir;  this 
way,  sir.  Half-dozen  proposals ;  it'll  be  cheaper  if  you  take 
a  dozen,  miss.  Can  I  do  anything  more  for  you,  mum? 
Just  let  me  show  you  a  sample  of  our  innocent  recollections. 


TWO  GROSS  ANECDOTES?'" 


The  Duchess  of  Bayswater  has  just  taken  some.  Anything 
in  the  musical  line  this  morning,  signor?  We  have  some 
lovely  new  recollections  just  in  from  impecunious  composers. 
Won't  you  take  a  score?  Good  morning,  Mr.  Clement 
Archer.  We  have  the  very  thing  for  you  —  a  memory  of 
Macready  playing  Wolsey,  quite  clear  and  in  excellent  pres- 
ervation ;  the  only  one  in  the  market.  Oh,  no,  mum ;  we 
have  already  allowed  for  these  memories  being  slightly 
soiled.  Jones,  this  lady  complains  the  memories  we  sent 
her  were  short." 


202  THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 

O'Donovan  was  not  to  be  seen.  I  passed  through  the 
Buying  Department,  where  the  employees  were  beating 
down  the  prices  of  "  kind  remembrances,"  and  through  the 
Hire  Department,  where  the  clerks  were  turning  up  their 
noses  at  the  old  memories  that  had  been  pledged  so  often, 
into  the  Amnesia  Agency.  There  I  found  the  great  organiser 
peering  curiously  at  a  sensitised  plate. 

" Oh,"  he  said,  " is  that  you?     Here's  a  curiosity." 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"The  memory  of  a  murder.  The  patient  paid  well  to 
have  it  off  his  mind,  but  I  am  afraid  I  shall  miss  the  usual 
second  profit,  for  who  will  buy  it  again?  " 

"  I  will !  "  I  cried,  with  a  sudden  inspiration.  "  Oh  !  what 
a  fool  I  have  been.  I  should  have  been  your  best  customer. 
I  ought  to  have  bought  up  all  sorts  of  memories,  and  written 
the  most  veracious  novel  the  world  has  seen.  I  haven't  got 
a  murder  in  my  new  book,  but  I'll  work  one  in  at  once. 
1  Eureka /'  " 

"Stash  that !"  he  said  revengefully.  "You  can  have  the 
memory  with  pleasure.  I  couldn't  think  of  charging  an  old 
friend  like  you,  whose  moving  from  an  address,  which  I've 
sold,  to  22,  Albert  Flats,  Victoria  Square,  Westminster,  made 
my  fortune." 

That  was  how  I  came  to  write  the  only  true  murder  ever 
written.  It  appears  that  the  seller,  a  poor  labourer,  had 
murdered  a  friend  in  Epping  Forest,  just  to  rob  him  of  half- 
a-crown,  and  calmly  hid  him  under  some  tangled  brushwood. 
A  few  months  afterwards,  having  unexpectedly  come  into  a 
fortune,  he  thought  it  well  to  break  entirely  with  his  past, 
and  so  had  the  memory  extracted  at  the  Agency.  This,  of 
course,  I  did  not  mention,  but  I  described  the  murder  and 
the  subsequent  feelings  of  the  assassin,  and  launched  the 
book  on  the  world  with  a  feeling  of  exultant  expectation. 


THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 


203 


Alas  !  it  was  damned  universally  for  its  tameness  and 
the  improbability  of  its  murder  scenes.  The  critics,  to  a 
man,  claimed  to  be  authorities  on  the  sensations  of  mur- 
derers, and  the  reading  public,  aghast,  said  I  was  flying  in 
the  face  of  Dickens.  They  said  the  man  would  have  taken 
daily  excursions  to  the 
corpse,  and  have  been 
forced  to  invest  in  a  season 
ticket  to  Epping  Forest; 
they  said  he  would  have 
started  if  his  own  shadow 
crossed  his  path,  not  calmly 
have  gone  on  drinking  beer 
like  an  innocent  babe  at 
its  mother's  breast.  I  de- 
termined to  have  the  laugh 
of  them.  Stung  to  mad- 
ness, I  wrote  to  the  papers 
asserting  the  truth  of  my 
murder,  and  giving  the  ex- 
act date  and  the  place  of 
burial.  The  next  day  a  de- 
tective found  the  body,  and 
I  was  arrested.  I  asked 
the  police  to  send  for 
O'Donovan,  and  gave  them 
the  address  of  the  Amnesia  Agency,  but  O'Donovan  denied 
the  existence  of  such  an  institution,  and  said  he  got  his 
living  as  secretary  of  the  Shamrock  Society. 

I  raved  and  cursed  him  then  —  now  it  occurs  to  me  that 
he  had  perhaps  submitted  himself  (and  everybody  else)  to 
amnesiastic  treatment.  The  jury  recommended  me  to 
mercy  on  the  ground  that  to  commit  a  murder  for  the 


204  THE  MEMORY  CLEARING  HOUSE. 

artistic  purpose  of  describing  the  sensations  bordered  on 
insanity ;  but  even  this  false  plea  has  not  saved  ray  life. 

It  may.  A  petition  has  been  circulated  by  Mudie's,  and 
even  at  the  eighth  hour  my  reprieve  may  come.  Yet,  if  the 
third  volume  of  my  life  be  closed  to-morrow,  I  pray  that 
these,  my  last  words,  may  be  published  in  an  edition  de  luxe, 
and  such  of  the  profits  as  the  publisher  can  spare  be  given 
to  Geraldine. 

If  I  am  reprieved,  I  will  never  buy  another  murderer's 
memory,  not  for  all  the  artistic  ideals  in  the  world,  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  do. 


Mated  by  a   Waiter. 

CHAPTER  I. 

BLACK   AND   WHITE. 

JONES  !  I  mention  him  here  because  he  is  the  first  and 
last  word  of  the  story.  It  is  the  story  of  what  might  be 
called  a  game  of  chess  between  me  and  him ;  for  I  never 
made  a  move,  but  he  made  a  counter-move.  You  must  re- 
member though  that  he  played,  so  to  speak,  blindfold,  while 
I  started  the  game,  not  with  the  view  of  mating  him,  but 
merely  for  the  fun  of  playing. 

There  was  to  be  a  Review  of  the  Fleet,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  Ryde  rejoiced,  as  befitted  sons  of  the  sea.  Although 
many  of  them  would  be  reduced  to  living  in  their  cellars, 
like  their  own  black-beetles,  so  that  they  might  harbour  the 
patriotic  immigrant,  they  sacrificed  themselves  ungrudgingly. 
No,  it  was  not  the  natives  who  grumbled. 

My  friends,  Jack  Woolwich  and  Merton  Towers,  being  in 
the  Civil  Service,  naturally  desired  to  pay  a  compliment  to 
the  less  civil  department  of  State,  and  picked  their  month's 
holiday  so  as  to  include  the  Review.  They  took  care  to 
let  the  Review  come  out  at  the  posterior  extremity  of  the 
holiday,  so  as  to  find  them  quite  well  and  in  the  enjoyment 
of  excellent  quarters  at  economical  rates.  They  selected 
a  comfortable  but  unfashionable  hotel,  at  moderate  but 
205 


206  MATED   BY  A    WAITER. 

uninclusive  terms,  and  joyously  stretched  their  free  limbs 
unswaddled  by  red-tape.  Soon  London  became  a  forgotten 
nightmare. 

They  wrote  to  me  irregularly,  tantalising  me  unwittingly 
with  glimpses  of  buoyant  wave  and  sunny  pasture.  It 
fretted  me  to  be  immured  in  the  stone-prison  of  the  metrop- 
olis, and  my  friends'  letters  did  but  sprinkle  sea-salt  on  my 
wounds ;  for  I  was  working  up  a  medical  practice  in  the 
northern  district,  and  my  absence  might  prove  fatal  —  not 
so  much,  perhaps,  to  my  patients  as  to  my  prospects.  I 
was  beginning  to  be  recognised  as  a  specialist  in  throats 
and  eyes,  and  I  invariably  sent  my  clients'  ears  to  my  old 
hospital  chum,  Robins,  which  increased  the  respect  of  the 
neighbourhood  for  my  professional  powers.  Your  general 
practitioner  is  a  suspiciously  omniscient  person,  and  it  is 
far  sager  to  know  less  and  to  charge  more. 

"  My  dear  Ted,"  wrote  the  Woolwich  Infant  (of  course 
we  could  not  escape  calling  Jack  Woolwich  thus),  "I  do 
wish  we  had  you  here.  Such  larks  !  We've  got  the  most 
comical  cuss  of  a  waiter  you  ever  saw.  I  feel  sure  he  would 
appeal  irresistibly  to  your  sense  of  humour.  He  seems  to 
boss  the  whole  establishment.  His  name  is  Jones;  and 
when  you  have  known  him  a  day  you  feel  that  he  is  the 
only  Jones  —  the  only  Jones  possible.  He  is  a  middle-aged 
man,  with  a  slight  stoop  and  a  cat-like  crawl.  His  face  is 
large  and  flabby,  ornamented  with  mutton-chop  whiskers, 
streaked  as  with  the  silver  of  half  a  century  of  tips.  He  is 
always  at  your  elbow  —  a  mercenary  Mephistopheles  —  sug- 
gesting drives  or  sails,  and  recommending  certain  yachts, 
boats,  and  carriages  with  insinuative  irresistibleness.  He 
has  the  tenacity  of  an  army  of  able-bodied  leeches,  and  if 
you  do  not  take  his  advice  he  spoils  your  day.  You  may 
shake  him  off  by  fleeing  into  the  interior  of  the  Isle,  or 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 


207 


plunging  into  the  sea ;  but  you  cannot  be  always  trotting 
about  or  bathing ;  and  at  meal-times  he  waits  upon  those 
who  have  disregarded  his  recommendations.  He  has  a 
hopelessly  corruptive  effect  on  the  soul,  and  I,  who  have 
always  prided  myself  on 
my  immaculate  moral  get- 
up,  was  driven  to  desper- 
ate lying  within  twenty- 
four  hours  of  my  arrival. 
I  told  him  how  much  I 
had  enjoyed  the  carriage- 
drive  he  had  counselled, 
or  the  sail  he  had  sanc- 
tioned by  his  approval; 
and,  in  return,  he  regaled 
me  with  titbits  at  our  table 
d'hdte  dinner.  But  the 
next  day  he  followed  me 
about  with  large,  reproach- 
ful eyes,  in  grieved  silence. 
I  saw  that  he  knew  all;  u 
and  I  dragged  myself  r 
along  with  my  tail  be- 
tween my  legs,  miserably 
asking  myself  how  I  could 
regain  his  respect. 

"Wherever  I  turned  I 
saw  nothing  but  those  di- 
lated orbs  of  rebuke.  I  took  refuge  in  my  bedroom,  but  he 
glided  in  to  give  me  a  bad  French  halfpenny  the  chamber- 
maid had  picked  up  under  my  bed ;  and  the  implied  con- 
trast to  be  read  in  those  eyes,  between  the  honesty  of  the 
establishment  and  my  own,  was  more  than  I  could  bear.  I 


'THE   INFANT." 


208  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

flew  into  a  passion  —  the  last  resource  of  detected  guilt 
—  and  irrelevantly  told  him  I  would  choose  my  own  amuse- 
ments, and  that  I  had  not  come  down  to  increase  his  com- 
missions. 

"  Ted,  till  my  dying  day  I  shall  not  forget  the  dumb  mar- 
tyrdom of  those  eyes  !  When  he  was  sufficiently  recovered 
to  speak,  he  swore,  in  a  voice  broken  by  emotion,  that  he 
would  scorn  taking  commissions  from  the  quarters  I  imag- 
ined. Ashamed  of  my  unjust  suspicions,  I  apologised,  and 
went  out  that  afternoon  alone  for  a  trip  in  the  Mayblossom, 
and  was  violently  sick.  Merton  funked  it  because  the 
weather  was  rough,  and  had  a  lucky  escape  ;  but  he  had  to 
meet  Jones  in  the  evening. 

"  Merton's  theory  is,  that  Jones  doesn't  get  commissions, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  the  wagonettes  and  broughams 
and  bath-chairs  and  boats  and  yachts  he  recommends  all 
belong  to  him,  and  that  the  nominal  proprietors  are  men  of 
straw,  stuffed  by  the  only  Jones.  This  theory  is,  I  must 
admit,  borne  out  by  the  evidence  of  O'Rafferty,  a  jolly  old 
Irishman,  whose  wife  died  here  early  in  the  year,  and  who 
has  been  making  holiday  ever  since.  He  says  that  Jones 
had  a  week  off  in  March  when  there  was  hardly  anybody 
in  the  hotel,  and  he  was  to  be  seen  driving  a  wagonette 
between  Ryde  and  Cowes  daily.  And,  indeed,  there  is 
something  curiously  provincial  and  plebeian  about  Jones's 
mind  which  suggests  a  man  who  has  risen  from  the  cab- 
ranks. 

"  His  ideas  of  tips  are  delightfully  democratic,  and  you 
cannot  insult  him  even  with  twopence.  He  handles  a  bottle 
of  cheap  claret  as  reverently  as  a  Russian  the  image  of  his 
saint,  and  he  has  never  got  over  his  awe  of  champagne. 
To  drink  Monopole  at  dinner  is  to  mount  a  pedestal  of 
dignity,  and  I  completely  recovered  his  esteem  by  drowning 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 


209 


the  memories  of  that  awful  marine  experience  in  a  pint  of 
'  dry.'  When  he  draws  the  champagne  cork  he  has  a  sacer- 
dotal air,  and  he  pours  out  the  foaming  liquid  with  the 
obsequiousness  of  an  archbishop  placing  on  his  sovereign's 


"THE  ONLY  JONES." 

head  the  crown  he  may  never  hope  to  do  more  than  touch. 
But  perhaps  the  best  proof  of  the  humbleness  of  his  origin 
is  his  veneration  for  the  aristocracy.  An  average  waiter  is, 
from  the  nature  of  his  occupation,  liable  to  be  brought  into 
contact  with  the  bluest  of  blood,  and  to  have  his  undimin- 


210  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

ished  reverence  for  it  tempered  with  a  good-natured  percep- 
tion of  mortal  foibles.  But  Jones's  attitude  is  one  of  awe- 
struck unquestioning  worship.  He  speaks  of  a  lord  with 
bated  breath,  and  he  dare  not,  even  in  conversation,  ascend 
to  a  duke. 

"  It  would  seem  that  this  is  not  one  of  the  hotels  which 
the  aristocrat's  fancy  turns  to  thoughts  of;  for  apparently 
only  one  lord  has  ever  stayed  here,  judging  by  the  frequency 
with  which  Jones  whispers  his  name.  Though  some  of  us 
seem  to  have  a  beastly  lot  of  money,  and  to  do  all  the  year 
round  what  Merton  and  I  can  only  indulge  in  for  a  month, 
we  are  a  rather  plebeian  company  I  fear,  and  it  is  simply 
overwhelming  the  way  Jones  rams  Lord  Porchester  down 
our  throats. 

" '  When  his  lordship  stayed  here  he  partic'larly  admired 
the  view  from  that  there  window.'  '  His  lordship  wouldn't 
drink  anything  but  Pommery  Green-oh ;  he  used  to 
swallow  it  by  tumblersful,  as  you  or  I  might  rum-and-water, 
sir.'  '  Ah,  sir  !  Lord  Porchester  hired  the  Mayblossom  all 
to  himself,  and  often  said  :  "  By  Jove  !  she's  like  a  sea-gull. 
She  almost  comes  near  my  own  little  beauty.  I  think  I 
shall  have  to  buy  her,  by  gad  I  shall !  and  let  them  race 
each  other." ' 

"And  the  fellow  is  such  an  inveterate  gossip  that  every- 
body here  knows  everybody  else's  business.  The  proprietor 
is  a  quiet,  gentlemanly  fellow,  and  is  the  only  person  in  the 
place  who  keeps  his  presence  of  mind  in  the  presence  of 
Jones,  and  is  not  in  mental  subjugation  to  the  flabby,  florid, 
crawling  boss  of  the  rest  of  the  show. 

"  You  may  laugh,  but  I  warrant  you  wouldn't  be  here  a 
day  before  Jones  would  get  the  upper  hand  of  you.  On 
the  outside,  of  course,  he  is  as  fixedly  deferential  as  if  every 
moment  were  to  be  your  last,  and  the  cab  were  waiting  to 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  211 

take  you  to  the  Station ;  but  inwardly,  you  feel  he  is  wound 
about  you  like  a  boa-constrictor.  I  do  so  long  to  see  him 
swathing  you  in  his  coils  !  Won't  you  come  down,  and 
give  your  patients  a  chance  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Jack,"  I  wrote  back  to  the  Infant,  "  I  am  so 
sorry  that  you  are  having  bad  weather.  You  don't  say  so, 
but  when  a  man  covers  six  sheets  of  writing-paper  I  know 
what  it  means.  I  must  say  you  have  given  me  an  itching  to 
try  my  strength  with  the  only  Jones ;  but,  alas  !  this  is  a 
musical  neighbourhood,  and  there  is  a  run  on  sore  throats, 
so  I  must  be  content  to  enjoy  my  Jones  by  deputy.  Is 
there  any  other  attraction  about  the  shanty?" 

Merton  Towers  took  up  the  running : 

"  Barring  ourselves  and  Jones,"  he  wrote,  "  and  perhaps 
O'Rafferty,  there  isn't  a  decent  human  being  in  the  hotel 
The  ladies  are  either  old  and  ugly,  or  devoted  to  their  hus- 
bands. The  only  ones  worth  talking  to  are  in  the  honey- 
moon stage.  But  Jones  is  worth  a  hundred  petticoats  :  he 
is  tremendous  fun.  We've  got  a  splendid  spree  on  now. 
I  think  the  Infant  told  you  that  Jones  has  not  enjoyed  that 
actual  contact  with  the  '  hupper  suckles '  which  his  simple 
snobbish  soul  so  thoroughly  deserves ;  and  that,  in  spite  of 
the  eternal  Lord  Porchester,  his  acquaintance  is  less  with 
the  beau  monde  than  with  the  Bow  and  Bromley  monde. 
Since  the  Infant  and  I  discovered  this  we  have  been  putting 
on  the  grand  air.  Unfortunately,  it  was  too  late  to  claim 
titles ;  but  we  have  managed  to  convey  the  impression  that, 
although  commoners  and  plain  misters,  we  have  yet  had  the 
privilege  of  rubbing  against  the  purple.  We  have  casually 
and  carelessly  dropped  hints  of  aristocratic  acquaintances, 
and  Jones  has  bowed  down  and  picked  them  up  reverently. 

"The  other  day,  when  he  brought  us  our  Chartreuse 
after  dinner,  the  Infant  said  :  '  Ah  !  I  suppose  you  haven't 


212  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

got  Damtidam  in  stock?'  The  only  Jones  stared  awe- 
struck. '  Of  course  not !  How  can  it  possibly  have  pene- 
trated to  these  parts  yet?'  I  struck  in  with  supercilious 
reproach.  *  Damtidam  !  What  is  that,  sir  ? '  faltered  Jones. 
'  What !  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  haven't  even  heard  of 
it? '  cried  the  Infant  in  amaze.  Jones  looked  miserable  and 
apologetic.  '  It's  the  latest  liqueur,'  I  explained  graciously. 
'  Awfully  expensive ;  made  by  a  new  brotherhood  of  An- 
chorites in  Dalmatia,  who  have  secluded  themselves  from 
the  world  in  order  to  concoct  it.  They  only  serve  the 
aristocracy;  but,  of  course,  now  and  then  a  millionaire 
manages  to  get  hold  of  a  bottle.  Lord  Everett  made  me 
a  present  of  some  a  couple  of  months  ago,  but  I  use  it  very, 
very  sparingly,  and  I  daresay  the  flask's  at  least  half-full. 
I  have  it  in  my  portmanteau.'  'How  does  it  taste,  sir?' 
enquired  Jones,  in  a  hushed,  solemn  whisper.  '  Damtidam 
is  not  the  sort  of  thing  that  would  please  the  uncultured 
palate,'  I  replied  haughtily.  '  It's  what  they  call  an  acquired 
taste,  ain't  it,  sir  ? '  he  asked  wistfully.  '  Would  you  like  to 
have  a  drop  ? '  I  said  affably.  '  Oh,  Towers  ! '  cried  the 
Infant,  'what  would  Lord  Everett  say?'  'Well,  but  how  is 
Lord  Everett  to  know?'  I  responded.  'Jones  will  never 
let  on.'  '  His  lordship  shall  never  hear  a  word  from  my 
lips,'  Jones  protested  gratefully.  '  But  you  won't  like  it  at 
first.  To  really  enjoy  Damtidam,  you'll  have  to  have  several 
goes  at  it.  Have  you  got  a  little  phial  ? '  Jones  ran  and 
fetched  the  phial,  and  I  fished  out  of  my  portmanteau  the 
bottle  of  dyspepsia  mixture  you  gave  us  and  filled  Jones's 
phial.  I  watched  him  glide  into  the  garden  and  put 
the  phial  to  his  lips  with  a  heavenly  expression,  through 
which  some  suggestions  of  purgatory  subsequently  flitted. 
That  was  yesterday. 

" '  Well,  Jones,  how  do  you  like  Damtidam  ?  '  I  enquired 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  213 

genially  this  morning.  'Very  'igh-class,  very  'igh-class  in 
its  taste,  thank  you,  sir,'  he  replied.  '  It's  'ardly  for  the 
likes  o'  me,  I'm  afraid ;  but  as  you've  been  good  enough  to 
give  me  some,  I'll  make  so  bold  as  to  enjoy  it.  I  'ad  a 
second  sip  at  it  this  morning,  and  I  liked  it  a  deal  better 
than  yesterday.  It  requires  time  to  get  the  taste,  sir ;  but, 
depend  upon  it,  I'll  do  my  best  to  acquire  it.'  'I  wish  you 
success  ! '  I  cried.  '  Once  you  get  used  to  it,  it's  simply 
delicious.  Why,  I'd  never  travel  without  a  bottle  of  it.  I 
often  take  it  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  You  finish  that 
phial,  Jones ;  never  mind  the  cost.  I'm  writing  to  Lord 
Everett  to-day,  and  I'll  drop  him  a  broad  hint  that  I  should 
like  another.' 

"  Eureka  !  As  I  write  this  a  glorious  idea  has  occurred 
to  me.  I  am  writing  to  you  to-day,  and  you  are  the  giver 
of  the  Damtidam,  alias  dyspepsia  mixture.  Oh,  if  you 
could  only  come  down  and  pose  as  Lord  Everett !  What 
larks  we  should  have  !  Do,  old  boy ;  it'll  be  the  greatest 
spree  we've  ever  had.  Don't  say '  no.'  You  want  a  change, 
you  know  you  do ;  or  you'll  be  on  the  sick-list  yourself 
soon.  Come,  if  only  for  a  week  !  Surely  you  can  find  a 
chum  to  take  your  practice.  How  about  Robins?  He 
can't  be  all  ears.  I  daresay  he's  equal  to  looking  after  your 
throats  and  eyes  for  a  week.  The  Infant  joins  with  me,  and 
says  that  if  you  don't  come  he'll  kill  off  Jones,  and  deprive 
you  for  ever  of  the  pleasure  of  knowing  him. 
"  I  remain, 

"  Yours  till  Jones's  death, 

"  MERTON  TOWERS. 

"  P.S. — When  you  come,  bring  a  dozen  of  Damtidam." 

The  prospect  of  becoming  Lord  Everett  flattered  and 
tickled  me,  and  was  a  daily  temptation  to  me  in  my  dreary 


214  MATED  BY  A   WAITER. 

drudgery.  To  the  appeal  of  the  pictured  visions  of  woods 
and  waters  was  added  the  alluring  figure  of  Jones,  standing 
a  little  bent  amid  the  smiling  landscape,  acquiring  a  taste 
for  Damtidam  ;  his  pasty  face  kneaded  ecstatically,  his  hand 
on  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  At  last  I  could  stand  it  no 
longer,  I  went  to  see  Robins,  and  I  wrote  to  my  friends : 

"Jones  wins !  Expect  me  about  ten  days  before  the 
Review,  so  that  we  can  return  to  town  together. 

"When  I  first  asked  Robins  to  take  my  eyes,  he  was 
inclined  to  dash  them ;  but  the  moment  I  let  him  into  the 
plot  against  Jones,  he  agreed  to  do  all  my  work  on  condition 
of  being  informed  of  the  progress  of  the  campaign. 

"  I  shan't  tell  anyone  I'm  leaving  town,  and  Robins 
will  forward  my  letters  in  an  envelope  addressed  to  Lord 
Everett. 

"  P.S.  —  I  am  bottling  a  special  brand  of  Damtidam." 


CHAPTER   II. 

A   DIFFICULT   OPENING. 

THE  proudest  moment  of  Jones's  life  was  probably  when 
he  assisted  me  to  alight  from  the  carriage  I  had  ordered  at 
the  station.  I  wore  a  light  duster,  a  straw  hat,  and  goloshes 
(among  other  things),  together  with  the  air  of  having  come 
over  in  the  same  steamboat  as  the  Conqueror.  I  may  'as 
well  mention  here  that  I  am  tall,  almost  as  tall  as  the 
Woolwich  Infant,  who  frequently  stands  six  foot  two  on  my 
pet  corn  (Towers,  by  the  way,  is  a  short  squat  man,  whose 
delusion  that  he  is  handsome  can  be  read  plainly  upon  his 
face).  My  features,  like  my  habits,  are  regular.  By  com- 
plexion I  belong  to  the  fair  sex ;  but  there  is  a  masculine 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  215 

vigour  about  my  physique  and  my  language  which  redeems 
me  from  effeminateness.  I  do  not  mention  my  tawny 
moustache,  because  that  is  not  an  exclusively  male  trait  in 
these  days  of  women's  rights. 

"  Good  morning,  my  lord  !  "  said  Jones,  his  obeisance  so 
low  and  his  voice  so  loud  that  I  had  to  give  the  driver 
half-a-crown. 

I  nodded  almost  imperceptibly,  knowing  that  the  surest 
way  to  impress  Jones  with  my  breeding  was  to  display  no 
trace  of  it.  I  strolled  languidly  into  the  hall,  deferentially 
followed  by  the  Infant  and  Merton  Towers,  leaving  Jones 
distracted  between  the  desire  to  handle  my  luggage  and  to 
show  me  my  room. 

"  Hexcuse  me,  my  lord,"  said  Jones,  fluttered.  "  Jane, 
run  for  the  master." 

"  Excuse  me,  my  lord,"  said  the  Infant ;  "  I'll  run  up  and 
wash  for  lunch.  See  you  in  a  moment.  Come  along, 
Merton.  It's  so  beastly  high-up.  When  are  you  going  to 
get  a  lift,  Jones?" 

"  In  a  moment,  sir ;  in  a  moment !  "  replied  Jones  auto- 
matically. 

He  seemed  half-dazed. 

The  quiet,  gentlemanly  young  proprietor,  who  appeared 
to  have  been  disturbed  in  his  studies,  for  he  held  a  volume 
of  Dickens  in  his  hand,  conducted  me  to  a  gorgeously 
furnished  bedroom  on  the  first  floor  facing  the  sea. 

"  It's  the  best  we  can  do  for  your  lordship,"  he  said 
apologetically  ;  "  but  with  the  Review  so  near — " 

I  waved  my  hand  impatiently,  wishing  he  could  have 
done  worse  for  me.  In  town  I  had  been  too  busy  to 
realise  the  situation  in  detail ;  but  now  it  began  to  dawn 
upon  me  that  it  was  going  to  be  an  expensive  joke.  Besides, 
I  was  separated  from  my  friends,  who  were  corridors  away 


216  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

and  flights  higher,  and  convivial  meetings  at  midnight 
would  mean  disagreeable  stockinged  wanderings  for  some- 
body—  a  mere  shadow  of  a  trifle,  no  doubt,  but  little  things 
like  that  worry  more  than  they  look.  I  was  afraid  to  ask 
the  price  of  this  swell  bedroom,  and  I  began  to  compre- 
hend the  meaning  of  noblesse  oblige. 

"The  sitting-room  adjoins,"  said  the  hotel-keeper,  sud- 
denly opening  a  door  and  ushering  me  into  a  magnificent 
chamber,  with  a  lofty  ceiling  and  a  dado.  The  furniture 
was  plush-covered  and  suggestive  of  footmen.  "  I  presume 
you  will  not  be  taking  your  meals  in  public  ?  " 

"  H'm  !  H'm  !  "  I  muttered,  tugging  at  my  moustache. 
Then,  struck  by  a  bright  idea,  I  said:  "What  do  Mr. 
Woolwich  and  Mr.  Towers  do  ?  " 

"They  join  the  table  (fhdte,  your  lordship,"  said  the 
proprietor.  "They  didn't  require  a  sitting-room  they  said, 
as  they  should  be  almost  entirely  in  the  open  air." 

"  Oh  !  well,  I  could  hardly  leave  my  friends,"  I  said 
reflectively ;  "  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  join  them  at  the 
table  (Thdte." 

"I  daresay  they  would  like  to  have  your  lordship  with 
them,"  said  the  proprietor,  with  a  faint,  flattering  smile. 

I  smiled  internally  at  my  cunning  in  getting  out  of  the 
sitting-room. 

" It's  an  awful  bore,"  I  yawned;  "but  I'm  afraid  they'd 
be  annoyed  if  I  ate  up  here  alone,  so — " 

"  You'll  invite  them  up  here  for  all  meals  ?  Yes,  my  lord," 
said  Jones  at  my  elbow. 

He  had  sidled  up  with  his  cat-like  crawl.  Through  the  open 
door  of  communication  I  saw  he  had  deposited  my  boxes 
in  the  gorgeous  bedroom.  There  was  a  moment  of  tense 
silence,  in  which  I  struggled  desperately  for  a  response. 
The  brazen  shudder  of  a  gong  vibrated  through  the  house. 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  217 

"  Is  that  lunch?  "  I  asked  in  relief,  making  a  step  towards 
the  door. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Jones ;  "  but  not  your  lordship's 
lunch.  It  will  be  laid  here  immediately,  my  lord.  I  will 
go  at  once  and  convey  your  invitation  to  your  lordship's 
friends." 

He  hastened  from  the  room,  leaving  me  dumbfounded. 
I  did  not  enjoy  Jones  as  much  as  I  had  anticipated.  In  a 
moment  a  pretty  parlour-maid  arrived  to  lay  the  cloth. 
I  became  conscious  that  I  was  hungry  and  thirsty  and 
travel-stained,  and  I  determined  to  let  things  slide  till  after 
lunch,  when  I  could  easily  set  them  right.  The  sunshine 
was  flooding  the  room,  and  the  sea  was  a  dance  of 
diamonds.  The  sight  of  the  prandial  preparations  softened 
me.  I  retired  to  my  beautiful  bedroom  and  plunged  my 
face  into  a  basin  of  water. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Come  in  !  "  I  spluttered. 

"  Your  hot  water,  my  lord  ! "     It  was  Jones. 

"  I've  got  into  enough  already,"  I  thought.  "  Don't  want 
it,"  I  growled  peremptorily ;  "  I  always  wash  in  cold." 

I  would  have  my  way  in  small  things,  I  resolved,  if  I 
could  not  have  it  in  great. 

"  Certainly,  your  lordship  ;  this  is  only  for  shaving." 

My  cheeks  grew  hot  beneath  the  ringers  washing  them. 
I  remembered  that  I  had  overslept  myself  that  morning, 
and  neglected  shaving  lest  I  should  miss  my  train.  There 
were  but  a  few  microscopic  hairs,  yet  I  felt  at  once  I  had 
not  the  face  to  meet  Jones  at  lunch. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  I  said  savagely. 

When  I  had  wiped  my  eyes  I  found  he  was  still  in  the 
room,  bent  in  meek  adoration. 

"  What  in  the  devil  do  you  want  now  ?  "  I  thundered. 


218  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

His  eyes  lit  up  with  rapture.  It  was  as  though  I  had 
made  oath  I  was  a  nobleman  and  removed  his  last  doubt. 

"  Pommery  Green-oh  or  Hideseek,  my  lord?  " 

I  cursed  silently.  I  am  of  an  easy-going  disposition,  and 
in  my  most  penurious  student  days,  had  to  spend  twenty-five 
per  cent  more  on  my  modest  lunch  whenever  the  waiter 
said:  "Stout  or  bitter,  sir?"  But  the  present  alternative 
was  far  more  terrible.  I  was  on  the  point  of  saying  I  was  a 
teetotaller,  when  I  remembered  that  would  shut  off  my 
nocturnal  whisky-and-water,  and  condemn  me  to  goody- 
goody  beverages  at  meals.  I  remembered,  too,  that  Jones 
intended  the  champagne  as  much  for  my  friends  as  myself, 
and  that  lords  are  proverbially  disassociated  from  temper- 
ance. Oh  !  it  was  horrible  that  this  oleaginous  snob  should 
rob  a  poor  man  of  his  beer  !  Perhaps  I  could  escape  with 
claret.  In  my  agitation  I  commenced  lathering  my  chin 
and  returned  no  answer  at  all.  The  voice  of  Jones  came  at 
last,  charged  with  deeper  respect,  but  inevitable  as  the  knell 
of  doom. 

"  Did  you  say  Pommery  Green-oh  !  my  lord?  " 

"  No  !  "  I  yelled  defiantly. 

"  Thank  you,  my  lord.  Lord  Porchester  was  very  partial 
to  our  Hideseek  —  when  he  was  here.  We  have  an  excel- 
lent year." 

"  I  wish  you  had  twelve  months,"  I  thought  furiously. 
Then  when  the  door  closed  upon  him,  I  ground  my  razor 
savagely  and  muttered :  "  All  right !  I'll  take  it  out  of  you 
in  Damtidam." 

I  heard  the  bustle  of  my  friends  arriving  to  lunch,  and  I 
shaved  myself  hastily.  Then  slipping  on  my  coat  and  dab- 
bing a  bit  of  sticking-plaster  on  my  chin,  I  threw  open  the 
door  violently ;  for  I  was  not  going  to  let  those  two  fellows 
off  an  exhibition  of  slang.  They  should  have  thought  out 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  219 

the  plot  more  fully ;  have  hired  me  a  moderate  bedroom  in 
advance,  and  not  have  let  me  in  for  the  luxuries  of  Lucullus. 
It  was  a  cowardly  desertion,  their  leaving  me  at  the  critical 
moment,  and  they  should  learn  what  I  thought  of  it. 

"  You  ruffians  ! "  I  began ;  but  the  words  died  on  my 
lips.  Jones  was  waiting  at  table. 

It  ought  to  have  been  a  delicious  lunch  :  broiled  chickens 
and  apple-tart;  the  cool  breeze  coming  through  the  open 
window,  the  sea  and  the  champagne  sparkling.  But  I,  who 
was  hungriest,  enjoyed  it  least;  Jones,  who  ate  nothing, 
enjoyed  it  most.  The  Infant  and  Merton  Towers  simply 
overflowed  with  high  spirits,  keeping  up  a  running  fire  of 
aristocratic  allusions,  which  galled  me  beyond  endurance. 

"By  the  way,  how  is  the  dowager-duchess?"  wound  up 
the  Infant. 

"D the  dowager-duchess!"  I  roared,  losing  the  re- 
mains of  my  temper. 

Jones  grew  radiant,  and  the  Infant  winked  irritating 
approval  of  my  natural  touches.  Such  contempt  for  duch- 
esses could  only  be  bred  of  familiarity.  At  last  I  could 
contain  myself  no  longer ;  I  must  either  explode  or  have  a 
fit.  I  sent  Jones  for  cigarettes. 

Directly  the  door  closed  those  two  men  turned  upon  me. 

"I  say,  old  fellow,"  exclaimed  Towers  reproachfully, 
"  isn't  this  just  going  it  a  little  too  far?  " 

"What  in  creation  made  you  take  these  howling  apart- 
ments ?"  asked  the  Infant.  "  Review  time,  too  !  They've 
been  saving  up  these  rooms,  foreseeing  there  would  be  some 
tip-top  swells  crowded  out  of  the  fashionable  hotels.  Why, 
there's  a  cosy  little  crib  next  to  ours  I  made  sure  you'd 
have." 

"  Well,  I  call  this  cool !  "  I  gasped. 

" So  it  is,"  said  the  Infant ;  "I  admit  that.     It's  the  cool- 


220  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

est  room  in  the  house.  It'll  be  real  jolly  up  here ;  and  if 
you  can  stand  the  racket  I'm  sure  I'm  not  the  chap  to 
grumble." 

"You  must  have  been  doing  beastly  well,  old  man," 
Towers  put  in  enviously ;  "  to  feed  us  like  critics  on  chicken 
and  champagne.  I  suppose  they'll  be  opening  new  ceme- 
teries down  your  way  presently." 

"  Look  here,  my  fine  fellows,"  I  said  ferociously,  "  don't 
you  forget  that  there's  plenty  of  room  still  in  Ryde  Church- 
yard." 

"  Hallo,  Ted  ! "  cried  the  Infant,  looking  up  with  ingenu- 
ous surprise,  "  I  thought  you  came  down  here  on  a  holiday?  " 

"  Stash  that !  "  I  said.  "  It's  you  who've  got  me  into  this 
hole,  and  you  know  it." 

"  Hole  !  "  cried  Towers,  looking  round  the  room  in  amaze. 
"  He  calls  this  a  hole  !  Hang  it  all,  my  boy,  are  you  a 
millionaire  ?  I  call  this  good  enough  for  a  lord." 

"  Yes  ;  but  as  I'm  neither,"  I  said  grimly,  "  I  should  like 
you  to  understand  that  I'm  not  going  to  pay  for  this 
spread." 

"  What !  "  gasped  the  Infant.  "  Invite  a  man  to  lunch, 
and  expect  him  to  square  the  bill?" 

"  I  never  invited  you  !  "  I  said  indignantly. 

"Who  then?"  said  Towers  sternly. 

"  Jones  !  "  I  answered. 

"  Yes,  my  lord  !  Sorry  to  have  kept  your  lordship  wait- 
ing ;  but  I  think  you  will  find  these  cigarettes  to  your  liking. 
I  haven't  been  at  this  box  since  Lord  Porchester  was  here, 
and  it  got  mislaid." 

"  Take  them  away  !  "  I  roared.     "  They're  Egyptians  !  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord  !  "  said  Jones,  in  delight. 

He  glided  proudly  from  the  room. 

"'Jones  invited  us?'"  pursued  the  Infant.     "What  rot! 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  221 

As  if  Jones  would  dare  do  anything  you  hadn't  told  him. 
We  are  his  slaves.  But  you?  Why,  he  hangs  on  your 
words  !  " 

"  D him  !  I  should  like  to  see  him  hanging  on 

something  higher  !  "  I  cried. 

"  Yes,  your  language  is  low,"  admitted  the  Infant.  "  But, 
seriously,  what's  all  the  row  about?  I  thought  this  cham- 
pagne lunch  was  a  bit  of  realism,  just  to  start  off  with." 

I  explained  briefly  how  Jones  had  coiled  himself  around 
me,  even  as  they  had  described.  The  dado  echoed  their 
ribald  laughter. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  the  Infant,  "it's  only  right  you  should 
give  a  lunch  the  day  you  come  into  a  peerage.  It's  really 
too  much  to  expect  us  to  pay  scot,  when  there  was  a  beau- 
tiful lunch  of  cold  beef  and  pickles  waiting  for  us  in  the 
dining-room,  and  included  in  our  terms  per  week.  We 
aren't  going  to  pay  for  two  lunches." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  lunch,"  I  said,  smiling,  my  sense  of 
humour  returning  now  that  I  had  poured  forth  my  griev- 
ance. "  I'd  gladly  give  you  chaps  a  lunch  any  day,  and  I'm 
pleased  you  enjoyed  it  so  much.  But,  for  the  rest,  I'm 
going  to  run  this  joke  by  syndicate,  or  not  at  all.  I  only 
came  down  with  a  tenner." 

"  A  pound  a  day  ! "  said  Towers,  "  that  ought  to  be 
enough." 

"Why,  there's  a  pound  gone  bang  over  this  lunch 
already  !  "  I  retorted. 

"And  then  there's  the  apartments,"  put  in  the  Infant 
roguishly.  "  I  wonder  what  they'll  tot  up  to  ?  " 

"Jones  alone  knows,"  I  groaned. 

He  came  in  —  a  veritable  devil  —  while  his  name  was 
on  my  lips,  with  a  new  box  of  cigarettes. 

"  Clear  away  !  "  I  said  briefly. 


222  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

He  cleared  away,  and  we  breathed  freely.  We  leaned 
back  in  the  plush-covered  easy-chairs,  sending  rings  of 
fragrant  smoke  towards  the  blue  horizon,  and  I  felt  more 
able  to  face  the  situation  calmly. 

"  I  daresay  we  can  lend  you  five  quid  between  us,"  said 
Towers. 

"  What's  the  good  of  a  loan  to  an  honest  man?  "  I  asked. 
"Can't  we  work  the  joke  without  such  a  lot  of  capital? 
The  first  thing  is  to  get  out  of  these  rooms,  and  into  that 
cosy  little  crib  near  you.  I  can  say  I  yearn  for  your 
society." 

"  But  have  you  the  courage  to  look  Jones  in  the  face  and 
tell  him  that?"  queried  Towers  dubiously. 

I  hesitated.  I  felt  instinctively  that  Jones  would  be 
dreadfully  shocked  if  I  changed  my  palatial  apartments  for 
a  cheap  bedroom ;  that  it  would  be  better  if  some  one  else 
broke  the  news. 

"  Oh,  the  Infant'll  explain,"  I  said  lightly. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  the  Infant;  "it  won't  wash 
now.  Besides,  they'd  make  you  shell  out  in  any  case. 
They'd  pretend  they  turned  lots  of  applicants  away  this 
morning,  because  the  rooms  were  let.  No,  keep  the  bed- 
room, and  we'll  go  shares  in  this  sitting-room.  It's  jollier 
to  have  a  proper  private  room." 

"  Good  !  "  I  said.  "  Then  it  only  remains  to  escape  from 
these  special  meals  and  the  champagne." 

"  You  leave  that  to  me,"  said  the  Infant.  "  I'll  tell  Jones 
that  you  hunger  for  our  company  at  meals,  but  that  we 
can't  consent  to  come  up  here,  because  you,  with  that  reck- 
less prodigality  which  is  wearing  the  dowager-duchess  to 
a  shadow,  insist  on  paying  for  everything  consumed  on  your 
premises,  so  that  you  must  e'en  come  to  the  general  table. 
Jones  will  be  glad  enough  to  trot  you  round." 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  223 

"  And  I'll  tell  him,"  added  Towers,  "  that,  with  that  de- 
termined dipsomania  which  is  making  the  money-lenders 
daily  friendlier  to  your  little  brother,  you  swill  champagne 
till  you  fly  at  waiters'  throats  like  a  mad  dog,  and  that  it  is 
our  sacred  duty  to  diet  you  on  table-beer  or  Tintara." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  simpler  to  tell  him  the  truth?"  I  asked 
feebly. 

"What!"  gasped  the  Infant,  "chuck  up  the  sponge? 
Don't  spoil  the  loveliest  holiday  I  ever  had,  old  man.  Just 
think  how  you  will  go  up  in  his  estimation,  when  we  tell 
him  you  are  a  spendthrift  and  a  drunkard  !  For  pity's  sake, 
don't  throw  a  gloom  over  Jones's  life." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said,  relenting.  "  Only  the  exes  must  be 
cut  down.  The  motto  must  be,  '  Extravaganza  without  ex- 
travagance, or  farces  economically  conducted.'  " 

"  Right  you  are  !  "  they  said ;  and  then  we  smoked  on  in 
halcyon  voluptuousness,  now  and  then  passing  the  matches 
or  a  droll  remark  about  Jones.  In  the  middle  of  one  of  the 
latter  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Jones  entered. 

"  The  carriage  will  be  round  in  five  minutes,  my  lord,"  he 
announced. 

"The  carriage  !  "  I  faltered,  growing  pale. 

"  Yes,  my  lord.  I  took  the  liberty  of  thinking  your  lord- 
ship wouldn't  waste  such  a  fine  afternoon  indoors." 

"  No ;  I'm  going  out  at  once,"  I  said  resolutely.  "  But 
I  shan't  drive." 

"  Very  well,  my  lord ;  I  will  countermand  the  carriage, 
and  order  a  horse.  I  presume  your  lordship  would .  like  a 
spirited  one?  Jayes,  up  the  street,  has  a  beautiful  bay 
steed." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  don't  care  for  riding  —  er  —  other  peo- 
ple's horses." 

"No;  of  course  not,  my  lord.     I'll  see  that  the  May- 


224  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

blossom  is  reserved  for  your  lordship's  use  this  afternoon. 
Your  lordship  will  have  time  for  a  glorious  sail  before 
dinner." 

He  hastened  from  the  room. 

"  You'd  better  have  the  carriage,"  said  the  Infant  drily ; 
"  it's  cheaper  than  the  yacht.  You'll  have  to  have  it  once, 
and  you  may  as  well  get  it  over.  After  one  trial,  you  can 
say  it's  too  springless  and  the  cushions  are  too  crustaceous 
for  your  delicate  anatomy." 

"  I'll  see  him  at  Jericho  first !  "  I  cried,  and  wrenched  at 
the  bellpull  with  angry  determination. 

"  Yes,  my  lord  ! " 

He  stood  bent  and  insinuative  before  me. 

"  I  won't  have  the  yacht." 

"Very  well,  my  lord;  then  I  won't  countermand  the 
carriage." 

He  turned  to  go. 

"  Jones  !  "  I  shrieked. 

He  looked  back  at  me.  His  eyes,  full  of  a  trusting  rev- 
erence, met  mine.  My  resolution  began  oozing  out  at 
every  pore. 

"Is — is  —  are  you  going  with  the  carriage?"  I  stam- 
mered, for  want  of  something  to  say. 

"  No,  my  lord,"  he  answered  wistfully. 

That  settled  it.     I  let  him  depart  without  another  word. 

It  was  certainly  a  pleasant  drive  through  the  delightful 
scenery  of  the  Isle,  and  I  determined,  since  I  had  to  pay 
the  piper,  to  enjoy  the  dance.  The  Infant  and  Towers 
were  hilarious  to  the  point  of  vulgarity :  I  let  myself  go  at 
the  will  of  Jones.  When  we  got  back,  we  realised  with  a 
start  that  it  was  half-past  six.  The  dressing-gong  was  sound- 
ing. Jones  met  me  in  the  passage. 

"Dinner  at  seven,  my  lord,  in  your  room." 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  225 

I  made  frantic  motions  to  the  Infant. 

"  Tell  him  !  "  I  breathed. 

"  It's  too  late  now,"  he  whispered  back.     "  To-morrow  !  " 

I  telegraphed  desperately  to  Towers.  He  shook  his  thick 
head  helplessly. 

"  Have  you  invited  my  friends  to  dinner?  "  I  asked  Jones 
bitingly. 

"  No,  my  lord,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  thought  your  lord- 
ship 'ad  seen  enough  of  them  to-day." 

There  was  a  suggestion  of  reproach  in  the  apology.  Jones 
was  more  careful  of  my  dignity  than  I  was. 

When  I  got  to  my  room,  I  found,  to  my  horror,  my  dress- 
clothes  laid  out  on  the  bed  —  I  had  brought  them  on  the 
off-chance  of  going  to  a  local  dance.  Jones  had  opened 
my  portmanteau.  For  a  moment  a  cold  chill  traversed  my 
spine,  as  I  thought  he  must  have  seen  the  monogram  on 
my  linen,  and  discovered  the  imposture.  Then  I  remem- 
bered with  joy  that  it  was  an  "  E,"  which  is  the  more  formal 
initial  of  Ted,  and  would  do  for  Everett.  In  my  relief,  I 
felt  I  must  submit  to  the  nuisance  of  dressing  —  in  honour 
of  Jones.  While  changing  my  trousers,  a  sudden  curiosity 
took  me.  I  peeped  through  the  keyhole  of  my  sitting- 
room,  and  saw  Jones  just  arriving  with  another  bottle  of 
Heidsieck.  I  groaned.  I  knew  I  should  have  to  drink  it, 
to  keep  up  the  fiction  Towers  was  going  to  palm  off  on 
Jones  to-morrow.  I  felt  like  bolting  on  the  spot,  but  I  was 
in  my  Jaegers.  Presently  Jones  sidled  mysteriously  towards 
my  door  and  knelt  down  before  it.  It  flashed  upon  me  he 
wanted  the  keyhole  I  was  occupying.  I  jumped  up  in 
alarm,  and  dressed  with  the  decorum  of  a  god  with  a  wor- 
shipper's eye  on  him. 

I  swallowed  what  Jones  gave  me,  fuming.  With  the 
roast,  a  blessed  thought  came  to  soothe  me.  Thenceforward 


226  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

I  chuckled  continuously.  I  refused  the  parfait  aux  /rat's 
and  the  savoury  in  my  eagerness  for  the  end  of  the  meal. 
Revenge  was  sufficient  sweets. 

"  Haw,  hum  !  "  I  murmured,  caressing  my  moustache. 
"  Bring  me  a  Damtidam." 

I  knew  his  little  phial  must  be  exhausted  long  since.  I 
intended  to  give  him  a  bottle. 

"  Did  your  lordship  say  Damtidam  ?  " 

"  Damtidam  !  "  I  roared,  while  my  heart  beat  volup- 
tuous music.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  don't  keep 
it?" 

"  Oh  no,  my  lord  !  We  laid  in  a  big  stock  of  it ;  but 
Lord  Porchester  was  that  fond  of  it  (used  to  drink  it  like 
your  lordship  does  champagne),  I  doubt  if  I  could  lay  my 
hand  on  a  bottle." 

"  What  an  awful  bo-ah  !  "  I  yawned.  "  I  suppose  I'll 
have  to  get  a  bottle  of  my  own  out  of  that  little  black  box 
under  my  bed.  I  couldn't  possibly  go  without  it  after 
dinner.  Hang  it  all,  the  key  is  in  my  other  trousers !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble,  my  lord,"  said  Jones  anxiously. 
"  I'll  run  and  see  if  I  can  find  any." 

I  waited,  gloating. 

Jones  returned  gleefully. 

"  I've  found  plenty,  my  lord,"  he  said,  setting  down  a 
brimming  liqueur-glass. 

He  lingered  about,  clearing  the  table.  His  eye  was  upon 
me.  I  drank  the  Damtidam.  Then  Jones  departed,  and  I 
went  about  kicking  the  furniture,  and  striding  about  in  my 
desolate  grandeur,  like  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena. 

Presently  the  Infant  and  Towers  came  rushing  in,  choking 
with  laughter. 

"  Your  arrival  has  fired  afresh  all  Jones's  aristocratic 
ambitions,"  gurgled  Towers.  "  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  227 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  "  panted  the  Infant.  "  He's  coaxed  us 
out  of  all  our  remaining  Damtidam." 

I  grinned  a  sickly  response. 

"  Great  Scot !  "  the  Infant  bellowed.  "  What's  this  howl- 
ing wilderness  of  shirt-front?  " 

"  It's  cooler,"  I  explained. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   QUEEN   COMES   INTO  PLAY. 

I  HAD  to  breakfast  in  my  room,  but  by  lunch  the  next  day 
my  friends  had  found  an  opportunity  to  explain  me  to 
Jones.  They  had  on  several  occasions  strongly  exhorted 
Jones  to  secrecy  as  to  my  rank,  so  that  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  table  were  on  me  when  I  entered.  I  ate  with  the 
ease  of  one  conscious  of  giving  involuntary  lessons  in  eti- 
quette to  a  furtive-glancing  bourgeoisie.  The  Infant  gave 
me  Tintara,  to  break  me  gradually  of  champagne  and  reduce 
me*  to  malt.  After  lunch  Towers  remonstrated  with  Jones 
on  having  obviously  given  me  away. 

"  Sir,"  protested  Jones,  in  righteous  indignation,  "  I  prom- 
ised to  tell  no  one  in  the  hotel,  and  I  have  kept  my  word  !  " 

"  Well,  how  do  they  know  then?  "  enquired  Towers. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  read  it  in  the  Visitors' 
List"  Jones  answered. 

Being  now  half-emancipated,  I  fell  into  the  usual  routine 
of  a  seaside  holiday.  I  swam,  I  rowed,  I  walked,  I  lounged, 
whenever  Jones  would  let  me.  One  wet  morning  we  even 
congratulated  ourselves  on  our  luxurious  sitting-room,  as  we 
sat  and  smoked  before  the  rain-whipt  sea,  till,  unexpected, 
Jones  brought  up  lunch  for  three.  That  evening,  as  we 


228  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

were  entering  the  dining-room,  Jones  observed  humbly  to 
the  Infant  and  Towers  : 

"  Excuse  me,  gentlemen ;  I  'ave  'ad  to  separate  you  from 
his  lordship.  We've  'ad  such  a  influx  of  visitors  for  the 
Review,  I've  been  'ard  put  to  it  to  squeeze  them  all  in." 

Those  wretched  cowards  marched  feebly  to  a  new  ex- 
tremity of  the  table,  while  I  walked  to  my  usual  seat  near 
the  window,  with  anger  flaming  duskily  on  my  brow.  This 
time  I  was  determined.  I  would  stick  to  table-beer  all  the 
same. 

But  before  I  dropped  into  my  chair  every  trace  of  anger 
vanished.  My  heart  throbbed  violently,  my  dazzled  eyes 
surveyed  my  serviette.  At  my  side  was  one  of  the  most 
charming  girls  I  had  ever  met.  When  the  Heidsieck  came, 
I  raised  my  glass  as  in  a  dream,  and  silently  drank  to  the 
glorious  creature  nearest  my  heart  —  on  the  left  hand. 

We  medicos  are  not  easily  upset  by  woman's  beauty ;  we 
know  too  well  what  it  is  made  of.  But  there  was  something 
so  exquisite  about  this  girl's  face  as  to  make  a  hardened 
materialist  hesitate  to  resolve  her  into  a  physiological  for- 
mula. It  was  not  long  before  I  offered  to  pass  her  the  pepper. 
She  declined  with  thanks  and  brevity.  Her  accent  grated 
unexpectedly  on  my  ear :  I  was  puzzled  to  know  why.  I 
spoke  of  the  rain  that  still  tapped  at  the  window,  as  if 
anxious  to  come  in. 

"  It  was  raining  when  I  left  Paris,"  she  said ;  "  but  up 
till  then  I  had  a  lovely  time." 

Now  I  saw  what  was  the  matter.  She  suffered  from  twang 
and  was  American.  I  have  always  had  a  prejudice  against 
Americans  —  chiefly,  I  believe,  because  they  always  seem  to 
be  having  "  a  lovely  time."  It  was  with  a  sense  of  partial 
disenchantment  that  I  continued  the  conversation  : 

"So  you  have  been  in  Paris?"  I  said,  thinking  of  the 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  229 

old  joke  about  good  Americans  going  there  when  they  die. 
"  I  must  admit  you  look  as  if  you  had  come  from  Heaven  !" 

"  So  wretched  as  all  that !  "  she  retorted,  laughing  mer- 
rily. There  was  no  twang  in  the  laugh;  it  was  a  ripple 
of  music. 

"  I  don't  mean  an  exile  from  Heaven,"  I  answered  :  "  an 
excursionist,  with  a  return-ticket." 

"  Oh  !  but  I'm  not  going  back,"  she  said,  shaking  her 
lovely  head. 

"  Not  even  when  you  die?"  I  asked,  smiling. 

"  I  guess  I  shall  need  a  warmer  climate  then ! "  she 
flashed  back  audaciously. 

"You're  too  good  for  that,"  I  answered,  without  hesi- 
tation. 

I  caught  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  her  blue  eyes,  as  she 
answered  : 

"  Gracious  !  you're  very  spry  at  giving  strange  folks  cer- 
tificates." 

"  It's  my  business  to  give  certificates,"  I  answered,  smiling. 

"  Marriage  certificates,  my  lord  ?  "  she  asked  roguishly. 

I  was  about  to  answer  "  Doctors'  certificates,"  but  her  last 
two  syllables  froze  the  words  on  my  lips. 

"  You  —  you  —  know  me  ? "  I  stammered. 

"  Yes,  your  lordship,"  with  a  mock  bow. 

"  Why  —  how  —  ?  "  I  faltered.     "  You've  only  just  come." 

"  Jones,"  she  answered. 

"  Jones  !  "  I  repeated,  vexed. 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

He  glided  up  and  re-filled  my  glass. 

"Jones  is  a  nuisance,"  I  said,  when  he  was  out  of  earshot 
again. 

"Jones  is  a  Britisher  !  "  she  said  enigmatically.  "  Surely 
you  don't  mind  people  knowing  who  you  are? " 


230  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  do,"  I  replied  uneasily. 

"  I  guess  your  reputation  must  be  real  shady,"  she  said, 
with  her  American  candour.  "  You  English  lords,  we  have 
just  about  sized  you  up  in  the  States." 

"I  —  I  — "  I  stammered. 

"  No !  don't  tell  me,"  she  interrupted  quickly ;  "  I'd 
rather  not  know.  My  aunt  here,  that  lady  on  my  left, — 
she's  a  widow  and  half  a  Britisher,  and  respectable,  don't 
you  know,  —  will  want  me  to  cut  you." 

"And  you  don't  want  to?"  I  exclaimed  eagerly. 

"  Well,  one  must  talk  to  somebody,"  she  said,  arching  her 
eyebrows.  "  It's  all  very  well  for  my  aunt.  She's  left  her 
children  at  home.  That's  happiness  enough  for  her.  But 
that  don't  make  things  equally  lively  for  me." 

"  Your  language  is  frank,"  I  said  laughingly. 

"  Yes,  that's  one  of  the  languages  you've  forgotten  how  to 
speak  in  this  old  country." 

Again  that  musical  ripple  of  mirth.  Her  fascination  was 
fast  enswathing  me  like  another  Jones,  only  a  thousandfold 
more  sweetly.  Already  I  found  her  twang  delightful,  lending 
the  last  touch  of  charm  to  her  original  utterances.  I  looked 
up  suddenly,  and  saw  the  Infant  and  Towers  glaring  enviously 
at  me  from  the  other  end  of  the  table.  Then  I  was  quite 
happy.  True,  they  had  the  sprightly  O'Rafferty  between 
them,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  console  them  —  rather  to 
chaff  them. 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  "  I  roared,  when  we  reached  our  sitting-room 
that  night.  "There's  virtue  in  the  peerage  after  all." 

"  Shut  up  !  "  the  Infant  snarled.  "  If  you  think  you're 
going  to  annex  that  ripping  creature,  I  warn  you  that  bloated 
aristocracy  will  have  to  settle  up  for  its  marble  halls.  We're 
running  this  thing  by  syndicate,  remember." 

"Yes,  but  this  isn't  part  of  the  profits,"  I  urged  defiantly. 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  231 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  ? "  put  in  Towers.  "  Why  do  you  suppose 
Jones  sat  her  next  to  you,  if  not  as  a  prerogative  of  nobility?  " 

"  Well,  but  if  I  can  get  her  to  go  out  with  me  alone,  that's 
a  private  transaction." 

"  No  go,  Teddy,"  said  the  Infant.  "  We  don't  allow  you 
to  play  for  your  own  hand." 

"  Or  hers,"  added  Towers.  "While  you  were  spooning, 
Jones  was  telling  us  all  about  her.  Her  name's  Harper  — 
Ethelberta  Harper,  and  her  old  man  is  a  Railway  King,  or 
something." 

"  She's  a  queen —  I  don't  care  of  what !  "  I  said  fervently. 
"  We  got  very  chummy,  and  I'm  going  to  take  her  for  a 
row  to-morrow  morning.  It's  not  my  fault  if  she  doesn't 
pal  on  to  you." 

"  Stow  that  cant ! "  cried  the  Infant.  "  Either  you 
surrender  her  to  the  syndicate  or  pay  your  own  exes. 
Choose !  " 

"  Well,  I'll  compromise  !  "  I  said  desperately. 

"  No,  you  don't !  It's  to  prevent  your  compromising  her 
we  want  to  stand  in.  We'll  all  go  for  that  row." 

"No,  listen  to  my  suggestion.  I'll  invite  her  to  lunch 
after  the  row,  and  I'll  invite  you  fellows  to  meet  her." 

"But  how  do  you  know  she'll  come?"  said  Towers. 

"  She  will  if  I  ask  her  aunt  too." 

"  Scoundrel,  you've  asked  them  both  already  !  "  cried  the 
Infant.  "  Where's  the  compromise  ?  " 

"I  hadn't  asked  you  already,"  I  reminded  him. 

"  No,  but  now  you  propose  to  use  the  capital  pf  the 
syndicate  ! "  he  rejoined  sharply. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  I  retorted  rashly. 

So  it  was  settled.  I  had  four  guests  to  lunch,  and  Jones 
expanded  visibly.  The  Infant  and  Towers  kept  Miss  Harper 
pretty  well  to  themselves,  while  I  was  left  to  entertain  Mrs. 


232  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

Windpeg,  a  comely  but  tedious  lady,  who  gave  me  details 
of  her  life  in  England  since  she  left  New  York,  a  newly 
married  wife,  twenty  years  before.  She  seemed  greatly 
interested  in  these  details.  Ethelberta  paid  no  attention  to 
her  aunt,  but  a  great  deal  to  my  friends.  Several  times  I 
found  myself  gnawing  my  lip  instead  of  my  wing.  But  I 
had  my  revenge  at  the  table  d^hdte.  Jones  kept  my  friends 
remorselessly  at  bay,  and  religiously  guarded  my  proximity 
to  the  lovely  American.  Strange  mental  revolution  !  The 
idea  of  tipping  Jones  actually  commenced  to  germinate  in 
my  mind. 

It  was  on  Review- day  that  I  realised  I  was  hopelessly  in 
love.  Of  course  my  quartet  of  friends  was  at  the  windows 
of  my  sitting-room.  Jones  also  selected  this  room  to  see 
the  Review  from,  and  I  fancy  he  regaled  my  visitors  with 
delicate  refreshments  throughout  the  day,  and  I  remember 
being  vaguely  glad  that  he  made  amends  for  the  general 
neglect  of  Mrs.  Windpeg  by  offering  her  the  choicest  titbits  ; 
but  I  have  no  clear  recollection  of  anything  but  Ethelberta. 
Her  face  was  my  Review,  though  there  was  no  powder  on 
it.  The  play  of  light  on  her  cheeks  and  hair  was  all  the 
manoeuvres  I  cared  for  —  the  pearls  of  her  mouth  were 
my  ranged  rows  of  ships;  and  when  everybody  else  was 
peering  hopelessly  into  the  thick  smoke,  my  eyes  were  feast- 
ing on  the  sunshine  of  her  face.  I  did  not  hear  the  cannon, 
nor  the  long,  endless  clamour  of  the  packed  streets,  only 
the  soft  words  she  spoke  from  time  to  time. 

"To-morrow  morning  I  must  go  away,"  I  murmured  to 
her  at  dinner.  I  fancied  she  grew  paler,  but  I  could  not 
be  sure,  for  Jones  at  that  moment  changed  my  plate. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said  simply.     "Must  you  go?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  sadly.  "  My  beautiful  holiday  is  over. 
To-morrow,  to  work." 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  233 

"  I  thought,  for  you  lords,  life  was  one  long  holiday,"  she 
said,  surprised. 

I  was  glad  of  the  reminder.  My  love  was  hopeless.  A 
struggling  doctor  could  not  ask  for  the  hand  of  an  heiress. 
Even  if  he  could,  it  would  be  a  poor  recommendation  to 
start  with  a  confession  of  imposture.  To  ask,  without  con- 
fessing, were  to  become  a  scoundrel  and  a  fortune-hunter 
of  the  lowest  type.  No ;  better  to  pass  from  her  ken,  leav- 
ing her  memory  of  me  untainted  by  suspicion  —  leaving  my 
memory  of  her  an  idyllic,  unfinished  dream.  And  yet  I 
could  not  help  reflecting,  with  agony,  that  if  I  had  not 
begun  under  false  colours,  if  I  had  come  to  her  only  as 
what  I  was,  I  might  have  dared  to  ask  for  her  love  —  yea, 
and  perhaps  have  won  it.  Oh,  how  weak  I  had  been  not  to 
tell  her  from  the  first !  As  if  she  would  not  have  appre- 
ciated the  joke  !  As  if  she  would  not  have  enrolled  herself 
joyously  in  the  campaign  against  Jones  ! 

"  Ah  !  my  life  will  be  anything  but  a  long  holiday,  I  fear," 
I  sighed. 

"Say,  you're  not  an  hereditary  legislator?  "  she  asked. 

"  Legislation  is  not  the  hereditary  disease  I  complain  of," 
I  said  evasively. 

"What  then?" 

"  Love  !  "  I  replied  desperately. 

She  laughed  gaily. 

"  I  guess  that's  an  original  view  of  love." 

"Why?  My  parents  suffered  from  it:  at  least,  I  hope 
they  did." 

"  Doubtful !  Your  Upper  Ten  is  usually  supposed  to  have 
cured  marriage  of  it." 

She  bent  her  head  over  her  plate,  so  that  I  strove  in  vain 
to  read  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  it's  a  beastly  shame,"  I  said.     "  Don't  you  think 


234  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

so,  Miss  Harper  —  Ethelberta  ?  May  I  call  you  Ethel- 
berta?" 

"  If  it  gives  you  any  comfort,"  she  said  plumply. 

"  It  gives  me  more  than  comfort,"  I  rejoined. 

A  wild  hope  flamed  in  my  breast.  What  if  she  loved  me 
after  all !  I  would  speak  the  word.  But  no  !  If  she  did, 
I  had  won  her  love  under  a  false  glamour  of  nobility.  Bet- 
ter, far  better,  to  keep  both  my  secrets  in  my  own  breast. 
Besides,  had  I  not  seen  she  was  a  flirt  ?  I  continued  to  call 
her  Ethelberta,  but  that  was  all.  When  we  rose  from  table 
I  had  not  spoken ;  knowing  that  my  friends  would  claim  my 
society  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  I  held  out  my  hand 
in  final  farewell.  She  took  it.  Her  own  hand  was  hot.  I 
clasped  it  for  a  moment,  gazing  into  the  wonderful  blue 
eyes ;  then  I  let  it  go,  and  all  was  over. 

"I  do  believe  Teddy  is  hit !  "  Towers  said  when  I  came 
into  our  room,  whither  they  had  preceded  me. 

"  Rot ! "  I  said,  turning  my  face  away.  "  A  seasoned 
bachelor  like  me.  Heigho  !  I  shall  be  awfully  glad  to  get 
to  work  again  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Infant.  "  I  see  from  the  statistics  that 
the  mortality  of  your  district  has  declined  frightfully.  That 
Robins  must  be  a  regular  duffer." 

"  I'll  soon  set  that  right ! "  I  exclaimed,  with  a  forced 
grin. 

"  She  certainly  is  a  stunner,"  Towers  mused. 

"  Hullo !  I'm  afraid  it's  Merton  that's  damaged,"  I 
laughed  boisterously. 

"  Well,  if  she  wasn't  an  heiress  — "  began  Towers 
slowly. 

"  She  might  have  you,"  finished  the  Infant.  "  But  I  say, 
boys,  we'd  better  ask  for  our  bills ;  we've  got  to  be  off  in  the 
morning  by  the  8.5.  Jones  mightn't  be  up  when  we  leave." 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  235 

The  room  echoed  with  sardonic  laughter  at  the  idea. 
There  was  no  need  to  ring  for  Jones  ;  he  found  two  pretexts 
an  hour  to  come  and  gaze  upon  me.  When  my  bill  came,  I 
went  to  the  window  for  air  and  to  hide  my  face  from  Jones. 

"  All  right,  Jones  !  "  cried  the  Infant,  guessing  what  was 
up.  "  We'll  leave  it  on  the  table  before  we  go  to  bed." 

"Well?"  my  friends  enquired  eagerly,  when  Jones  had 
crawled  off. 

"  Twenty-seven  pounds  two  and  tenpence  ! "  I  groaned, 
letting  the  accursed  paper  drift  helplessly  to  the  floor. 

"  D d  reasonable  !  "  said  the  Infant. 

"  You  would  go  it !  "  Towers  added  soothingly. 

"  Reasonable  or  not,"  I  said,  "  I've  only  got  six  pounds 
in  my  pockets." 

"  You  said  you  brought  ten,"  said  Towers. 

"  Yes  !  but  what  of  carriage-sails  and  yacht-drives  ? "  I 
cried  agitatedly. 

"  You're  drunk,"  said  the  Infant  brutally.  "  However, 
I  suppose,  before  going  into  dividing  exes  we  must  get 
together  the  gross  sum." 

It  was  easier  said  than  done.  When  every  farthing  had 
been  scraped  together,  we  were  thirteen  pounds  short  on 
the  three  bills.  We  held  a  long  council  of  war,  discussing 
the  possibilities  of  surreptitious  pledging  —  the  unspeakable 
Jones,  playing  his  blindfold  game,  had  reduced  us  to  pawn 
—  but  even  these  were  impracticable. 

"  Confound  you  !  "  cried  Merton  Towers.  "Why  didn't 
you  think  of  the  bill  before  ?  " 

As  if  I  had  not  better  things  to  think  of ! 

The  horror  of  facing  Jones  in  the  morning  drove  us  to 
the  most  desperate  devices ;  but  none  seemed  workable. 

"  There's  only  one  way  left  of  getting  the  coin,  Teddy," 
said  the  Infant  at  last. 


236  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

"What's  that?"  I  cried  eagerly. 

"  Ask  the  heiress." 

It  was  an  ambiguous  phrase,  but  in  whatever  sense  he 
meant  it,  it  was  a  cruel  and  unmanly  thrust ;  in  my  indigna- 
tion I  saw  light. 

"What  fools  we  have  been!"  I  shouted.  "It's  as  easy 
as  A  B  C.  I'm  not  in  an  office  like  you,  bound  to  be  back 
to  the  day  —  I  stay  on  over  to-morrow,  and  you  send  me 
on  the  money  from  town." 

"  Where  are  we  to  get  it  from  ?  "  growled  Towers. 

"  Anywhere  !  anybody  !  "  I  cried  excitedly ;  "  I'll  write 
to  Robins  at  once  for  it." 

"  Why  not  wire  ?  "  said  the  Infant. 

"  I  don't  see  the  necessity  for  wasting  sixpence,"  I  said ; 
"  we  must  be  economical.  Besides,  Jones  would  read  the 
wire." 


CHAPTER   IV.     • 

THE   WINNING   MOVE. 

TIME  slipped  on  ;  but  I  could  not  tear  myself  away  from 
this  enchanted  hotel.  The  departure  of  my  friends  allowed 
me  to  be  nearly  all  day  with  Ethelberta. 

I  had  drowned  reason  and  conscience  :  day  followed  day 
in  a  golden  languor  and  the  longer  I  stopped,  the  harder  it 
was  to  go.  At  last  Robins's  telegrams  became  too  imperative 
to  be  disregarded,  and  even  my  second  supply  of  money 
would  not  suffice  for  another  day. 

The  bitter  experience  of  parting  had  to  be  faced  again  ; 
the  miserable  evening,  when  I  had  first  called  her  Ethel- 
berta, had  to  be  repeated.  We  spoke  little  at  dinner ;  after- 
wards, as  I  had  not  my  friends  to  go  to  this  time,  we  left 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  237 

Mrs.  Windpeg  sitting  over  her  dessert,  and  paced  up  and 
down  in  the  little  cultivated  enclosure  which  separated  the 
hotel  from  the  parade.  It  was  a  balmy  evening  ;  the  moon 
was  up,  silvering  the  greenery,  stretching  a  rippling  band 
across  the  sea,  and  touching  Ethelberta's  face  to  a  more 
marvellous  fairness.  The  air  was  heavy  with  perfume ; 
everything  combined  to  soften  my  mood.  Tears  came  into 
my  eyes  as  I  thought  that  this  was  the  very  last  respite. 
Those  tears  seemed  to  purge  my  vision  :  I  saw  the  beauty 
of  truth  and  sincerity,  and  felt  that  I  could  not  go  away 
without  telling  her  who  I  really  was ;  then,  in  future  years, 
whatever  she  thought  of  me,  I,  at  least,  could  think  of  her 
sacredly,  with  no  cloud  of  falseness  between  me  and  her. 

"  Ethelberta  !  "  I  said,  in  low  trembling  tones. 

"  Lord  Everett !  "  she  murmured  responsively. 

"  I  have  a  confession  to  make." 

She  flushed  and  lowered  her  eyes. 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  said  agitatedly ;  "  spare  me  that  confes- 
sion. I  have  heard  it  so  often ;  it  is  so  conventional.  Let 
us  part  friends." 

She  looked  up  into  my  face  with  that  frank,  heavenly 
glance  of  hers.  It  shook  my  resolution,  but  I  recovered 
myself  and  went  on  : 

"  It  is  not  a  conventional  confession.  I  was  not  going  to 
say  I  love  you." 

"No?"  she  murmured. 

Was  it  the  tricksy  play  of  the  moon  among  the  clouds,  or 
did  a  shade  of  disappointment  flit  across  her  face  ?  Were 
her  words  genuine,  or  was  she  only  a  coquette  ?  I  stopped 
not  to  analyse ;  I  paused  not  to  enquire ;  I  forgot  every- 
thing but  the  loveliness  that  intoxicated  me. 

"I  —  I  —  mean  I  was  !  "  I  stammered  awkwardly  ;  "  I 
have  loved  you  from  the  first  moment  I  saw  you." 


238  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

I  strove  to  take  her  hand  ;  but  she  drew  it  away  haughtily. 

"  Lord  Everett,  it  is  impossible  !     Say  no  more." 

The  twang  dropped  from  her  speech  in  her  dignity ;  her 
accents  rang  pure  and  sweet. 

"Why  not?"  I  cried  passionately.  "Why  is  it  impossi- 
ble ?  You  seemed  to  care  for  me." 

She  was  silent ;  at  last  she  answered  slowly  : 

"You  are  a  lord  !     I  cannot  marry  a  lord." 

My  heart  gave  a  great  leap,  then  I  felt  cold  as  ice. 

"Because  I  am  a  lord?"  I  murmured  wonderingly. 

"  Yes  !  I  —  I  —  flirted  with  you  at  first  out  of  pure  fun 
—  believe  me,  that  was  the  truth.  If  I  loved  you  now," 
her  words  were  tremulous  and  almost  inaudible,  "  it  would 
be  right  that  I  should  be  punished.  We  must  never  meet 
again.  Good-bye  ! " 

She  stood  still  and  extended  her  hand. 

I  touched  it  with  my  icy  fingers. 

"  Oh  !  if  you  had  only  let  me  confess  just  now  what  I 
wanted  to  !  "  I  cried  in  agony. 

"Confess  what?  "  she  said.     "  Have  you  not  confessed?  " 

"  No  !  You  may  disbelieve  me  now ;  but  I  wanted  to 
tell  you  that  I  am  not  a  lord  at  all,  that  I  only  became  one 
through  Jones." 

Her  lovely  eyes  dilated  with  surprise.  I  explained  briefly, 
confusedly. 

She  laughed,  but  there  was  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

"  Listen  !  "  she  said  hurriedly,  starting  pacing  again ;  "  I, 
too,  have  a  confession  to  make.  Jones  has  corrupted  me 
too.  I'm  not  an  heiress  at  all,  nor  even  an  American  — 
just  a  moderately  successful  London  actress,  resting  a  few 
weeks,  and  Mrs.  Windpeg  is  only  my  companion  and  general 
factotum,  the  widow  of  a  drunken  stage-carpenter,  who  left 
her  without  resources,  poor  thing.  But  we  had  hardly 


MATED  BY  A    WAITER.  239 

crossed  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  before  Jones  mentioned  Lord 
Everett  was  in  the  place,  and  buzzed  the  name  so  in  our 
ears  that  the  idea  of  a  wild  frolic  flashed  into  my  head. 
I  am  a  great  flirt,  you  know,  and  I  thought  that  while  I  had 
the  chance  I  would  test  the  belief  that  English  lords  always 
fall  in  love  with  American  heiresses." 

"  It  was  no  test,"  I  interrupted.  "  A  Chinese  Mandarin 
would  fall  in  love  with  you  equally." 

"  I  let  Mrs.  Windpeg  tell  Jones  all  about  me  —  imagina- 
tively," she  went  on  with  a  sad  smile ;  "  I  told  her  to  call 
me  Harper,  because  Harper's  Magazine  came  into  my 
mind.  But  it  was  Jones  who  seated  us  together.  I  will 
believe  that  you  took  a  genuine  liking  to  me ;  still,  it  was 
a  foolish  freak  on  both  sides,  and  we  must  both  forget  it  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"  I  can  never  forget  it ! "  I  said  passionately ;  "  I  love 
you ;  and  I  dare  to  think  you  care  for  me,  though  while 
you  fancied  I  was  a  peer  you  stifled  the  feeling  that  had 
grown  up  despite  you.  Believe  me,  I  understand  the  purity 
of  your  motives,  and  love  you  the  more  for  them." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Good-bye  !  "  she  faltered. 

"  I  will  not  say  '  good-bye  ' !  I  have  little  to  offer  you, 
but  it  includes  a  heart  that  is  aching  for  you.  There  is  no 
reason  now  why  we  should  part." 

Her  lips  were  white  in  the  moonlight. 

"  I  never  said  I  loved  you,"  she  murmured. 

"  Not  in  so  many  words,"  I  admitted ;  "  but  why  did 
you  let  me  call  you  Ethelberta?  "  I  asked  passionately. 

"  Because  it  is  not  my  name,"  she  answered ;  and  a  ghost 
of  the  old  gay  smile  lit  up  the  lovely  features. 

I  stood  for  a  moment  dumbfounded.  Unconsciously  we  had 
come  to  a  standstill  under  the  window  of  the  dining-room. 


240  MATED  BY  A    WAITER. 

She  took  advantage  of  my  consternation  to  say  more 
lightly  : 

"  Come,  let  us  part  friends." 

I  dimly  understood  that,  in  some  subtle  way  I  was  too 
coarse  to  comprehend,  she  was  ashamed  of  the  part  she  had 
played  throughout,  that  she  would  punish  herself  by  renuncia- 
tion. I  knew  not  what  to  say ;  I  saw  the  happiness  of  my 
life  fading  before  my  eyes.  She  held  out  her  hand  for  the 
last  time  and  I  clasped  it  mechanically.  So  we  stood,  silent. 

"What  does  that  matter,  Mrs.  Windpeg?  You're  a  real 
lady,  that's  enough  for  me.  It  wasn't  because  I  thought  you 
had  money  that  I  ventured  to  raise  my  eyes  to  you." 

We  started.  It  was  the  voice  of  Jones.  Mrs.  Windpeg 
had  evidently  lingered  too  long  over  her  dessert. 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  have  nothing  at  all  —  nothing  !  "  came 
the  voice  of  Mrs.  Windpeg. 

"  I  don't  want  it.  You  see,  I'm  like  you  —  not  what  I 
seem.  This  place  belongs  to  me,  only  I  was  born  and  bred 
a  waiter  in  this  very  hotel,  and  I  don't  see  why  the  'ouse 
shouldn't  profit  by  the  tips  instead  of  a  stranger.  My  son 
does  the  show  part ;  but  he  ain't  fit  for  anything  but  reading 
Dickens  and  other  low-class  writers,  and  I  feel  the  want  of 
a  real  lady,  knowing  the  ways  of  the  aristocrats.  What  with 
Lord  Porchester  and  Lord  Everett,  it  looks  as  if  this  hotel  is 
going  to  be  fashionable  and  I  know  there's  lots  of  'igh-class 
wrinkles  I  ain't  picked  up  yet.  Only  lately  I  was  flummoxed 
by  a  gent  asking  for  a  liqueur  I'd  never  'card  of.  You're 
mixed  up  with  tip-top  swells  ;  I  loved  you  from  the  moment 
I  saw  you  fold  your  first  serviette.  I'm  a  widower,  you're  a 
widow.  Let  bygones  be  bygones.  Why  shouldn't  we  make 
a  match  of  it?  " 

We  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed ;  false  subtleties 
were  swept  away  by  a  wave  of  mutual  merriment. 


MATED   BY  A    WAITER.  241 

" '  Let  bygones  be  bygones.  Why  shouldn't  we  make  a 
match  of  it?"'  I  echoed.  "Jones  is  right."  I  tightened 
my  grasp  of  her  hand  and  drew  her  towards  me,  almost  with- 
out resistance.  "You're  going  to  lose  your  companion, 
you'll  want  another." 

Her  lovely  face  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

"  Besides,"  I  said  gaily,  "  I  understand  you're  out  of  an 
engagement." 

"Thanks,"  she  said  ;  "  I  don't  care  for  an  engagement  in 
the  Provinces,  and  I  have  sworn  never  to  marry  in  the  pro- 
fession :  they're  a  bad  lot." 

"Call  me  an  actor?" 

My  lips  were  almost  on  hers. 

"You  played  Lord  Dundreary  —  not  unforgivably." 

Our  lips  met ! 

"  Oh,  Augustus,"  came  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Windpeg,  "  I 
feel  so  faint  with  happiness  !  " 

"  Loose  your  arms  a  moment,  my  popsy.  I'll  fetch  you 
a  drop  of  Damtidam  !  "  answered  the  voice  of  Jones. 


The  Principal  Boy. 


i. 

To  sit  out  a  play  is  a  bore  ;  to  sit  out  a  dance  demands 
less  patience.  Even  when  you  do  it  merely  to  prevent  your 
partner  dancing  with  you,  it  is  the  less  disagreeable  alterna- 
tive. But  it  sometimes  makes  you  giddier  than  galoping. 
Frank  Redhill  lost  his  head  —  a  well-built  head  —  com- 
pletely through  indulging  in  it;  and  without  the  head,  to 
look  after  it,  the  heart  soon  goes.  He  held  Lucy's  little 
hand  in  his  hot  clasp.  She  wished  he  would  get  himself 
gloves  large  enough  not  to  split  at  the  thumbs,  and  felt  quite 
affectionate  towards  the  dear,  untidy  boy.  As  a  woman  al- 
most out  of  her  teens,  she  could  permit  herself  a  motherly, 
feeling  for  a  lad  who  had  but  just  attained  his  majority. 
The  little  thing  looked  very  sweet  in  a  d»mure  dress  of 
nun's  veiling,  which  Frank  would  have  described  as  "white 
robes."  For  he  was  only  an  undergraduate.  Some  under- 
graduates are  past  masters  in  the  science  and  art  of  woman ; 
but  Frank  was  not  in  that  set.  Nor  did  he  herd  with  the 
athletic,  who  drift  mainly  into  the  unpaid  magistracy,  nor 
with  the  worldly,  who  usually  go  in  for  the  church.  He  was 
a  reading  man.  Only  he  did  not  stick  to  the  curriculum, 
but  fed  himself  on  the  conceits  of  the  poets,  and  thirsted  to 
redeem  mankind.  So  he  got  a  second-class.  But  this  is 
anticipating.  Perhaps  Lucy  had  been  anticipating,  too. 
At  any  rate  she  went  through  the  scene  as  admirably  as  if 
242 


THE  PRINCIPAL   BOY.  243 

she  had  rehearsed  for  it.  And  yet  it  was  presumably  the 
first  time  she  had  been  asked  to  say  :  "  I  love  you  "  —  that 
wonderful  little  phrase,  so  easy  to  say  and  so  hard  to  be- 
lieve. Still,  Lucy  said  and  Frank  believed  it. 

Not  that  Lucy  did  not  share  his  belief.  It  must  be  for 
love  that  she  was  conceding  Frank  her  hand  —  since  her 
mother  objected  to  the  match.  As  the  nephew  of  a  peer, 
Frank  could  give  her  rather  better  society  than  she  now  en- 
joyed, even  if  he  could  not  give  her  that  of  the  peer,  who 
had  an  hereditary  feud  with  him.  Of  course  she  could  not 
marry  him  yet,  he  was  quite  too  poor  for  that,  but  he  was 
a  young  man  of  considerable  talents  —  which  are  after  all 
gold  pieces.  When  fame  and  fortune  came  to  him,  Lucy 
would  come  and  join  the  party.  En  attendant,  their  souls 
would  be  wed.  They  kissed  each  other  passionately,  seal- 
ing the  contract  of  souls  with  the  red  sealing-wax  of  burning 
lips.  To  them  in  Paradise  entered  the  Guardian  Angel  with 
flaming  countenance,  and  drove  them  into  the  outer  dark- 
ness of  the  brilliant  ball-room. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  Guardian  Angel,  who  was  Lucy 
Grayling's  mother,  "there  is  going  to  be  an  interval,  and 
Mrs.  Bayswater  is  so  anxious  for  you  to  give  that  sweet  re- 
citation from  Racine." 

So  Lucy  declaimed  one  of  Athalie's  terrible  speeches  in  a 
way  that  enthralled  those  who  understood  it,  and  made 
those  who  didn't,  enthusiastic. 

The  applause  did  not  seem  to  gratify  the  Guardian  Angel 
as  much  as  usual.  Lucy  wondered  how  much  she  had  seen, 
and,  disliking  useless  domestic  discussion,  extorted  a  prom- 
ise of  secrecy  from  her  lover  before  they  parted.  He  did 
not  care  about  keeping  anything  from  his  father  —  especially 
something  of  which  his  approval  was  dubious.  Still,  all's 
fair  and  honourable  in  love  —  or  love  makes  it  seem  so. 


244  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY. 

Frank  took  a  solemn  view  of  engagement,  and  em- 
braced Lucy  in  his  general  scheme  for  the  redemption  of 
mankind.  He  felt  she  was  a  sacred  as  well  as  a  precious 
charge,  and  he  promised  himself  to  attend  to  her  spiritual 
salvation  in  so  far  as  her  pure  instincts  needed  guidance. 
He  directed  her  reading  in  bulky  letters  bearing  the  Oxford 
post-mark.  Meantime,  Lucy  disapproved  of  his  neckties. 
She  thought  he  would  be  even  nicer  with  a  loving  wife  to  look 
after  his  wardrobe. 

II. 

When  Frank  achieved  the  indistinction  of  a  second-class, 
as  prematurely  revealed,  he  went  to  Canada,  and  became  a 
farm-pupil.  It  was  not  that  his  physique  warranted  the 
work,  but  there  seemed  no  way  in  the  old  country  of  mak- 
ing enough  money  to  marry  Lucy  (much  less  to  redeem 
mankind)  on.  He  was  suffering,  too,  at  the  moment  from 
a  disgust  with  the  schools,  and  a  sentimental  yearning  to 
"  return  to  nature."  " 

The  parting  with  Lucy  was  bitter,  but  he  carried  her 
bright  image  in  his  heart,  and  wrote  to  her  by  every  mail. 
In  Canada  he  did  not  look  at  a  woman,  as  the  saying  goes ; 
true,  the  opportunities  were  scant  on  the  lonely  log-farm. 
Absence,  distance,  lent  the  last  touch  of  idealisation  and 
enchantment  to  his  conception  of  Lucy.  She  stood  to  him 
not  only  for  Womanhood  and  Purity,  but  for  England,  Home, 
and  Beauty.  Nay,  the  thought  of  her  was  even  Culture, 
when  the  evening  found  him  too  worn  with  physical  toil  to 
read  a  page  of  the  small  library  he  had  brought  with  him. 
He  saw  his  way  to  profitable  farming  on  his  own  account  in 
a  few  years'  time.  Then  Lucy  would  come  out  to  him,  if 
they  should  be  too  impatient  to  wait  till  he  had  made  money 
enough  to  go  to  her. 


THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY.  245 

Lucy's  letters  did  nothing  to  disabuse  him  of  his  ideals  or 
his  aims.  They  were  charming,  affectionate,  and  intel- 
lectual. Midway,  in  the  batch  he  treasured  more  than  east- 
ern jewels,  the  sheets  began  to  wear  mourning  for  Lucy's 
mother.  The  Guardian  Angel  was  gone  —  whether  to  con- 
tinue the  role  none  could  say.  Frank  comforted  the 
orphaned  girl  as  best  he  could  with  epistolary  kisses  and 
condolences,  and  hoped  she  would  get  along  pleasantly  with 
her  aunt  till  the  necessity  for  that  good  relative  vanished. 
And  so  the  correspondence  went  on,  Lucy's  mind  improving 
visibly  under  her  lover's  solicitous  guidance.  Then  one  day 
Redhill  the  elder  cabled  that  by  the  death  of  his  brother 
and  nephew  within  a  few  days  of  each  other,  he  had  become 
Lord  Redhill,  and  Frank  consequently  heir  to  a  fine  old 
peerage,  and  with  an  heir's  income.  Whereupon  Frank  re- 
turned forthwith  from  nature  to  civilisation.  Now  he  could 
marry  Lucy  (and  redeem  mankind)  immediately.  Only  he 
did  not  tell  Lucy  he  was  coming.  He  could  not  deny  him- 
self (or  her)  the  pleasure  of  so  pleasurable  a  surprise. 


III. 

It  was  a  cold  evening  in  early  November  when  Frank's 
hansom  drove  up  to  the  little  house  near  Bond  Street,  where 
Lucy's  aunt  resided.  He  had  not  been  to  see  his  father 
yet ;  Lucy's  angel-face  hovered  before  him,  warming  the 
wintry  air,  and  drawing  him  onwards  towards  the  roof  that 
sheltered  her.  The  house  was  new  to  him ;  and  as  he 
paused  outside  for  a  moment,  striving  to  still  his  emotion, 
his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  little  placard  in  the  window  of 
the  ground  floor,  inscribed  "Apartments."  He  shuddered, 
a  pang  akin  to  self-reproach  shot  through  him.  Lucy's 


246  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY. 

aunt  was  poor,  was  reduced  to  letting  lodgings.  Lucy  her- 
self had,  perhaps,  been  left  penniless.  Delicacy  had  re- 
strained her  from  alluding  to  her  poverty  in  her  letter. 
He  had  taken  everything  too  much  for  granted  —  surely, 
straitened  as  were  his  means,  he  should  have  proffered  her 
some  assistance.  A  suspicion  that  he  lacked  worldly  wis- 
dom dawned  upon  him  for  the  first  time,  as  he  rang  the  bell. 
Poor  little  Lucy  !  Well,  whatever  she  had  gone  through, 
the  bright  days  were  come  at  last.  The  ocean  which  had 
severed  them  for  so  many  weary  moons  no  longer  rolled  be- 
tween them  —  thank  God,  only  the  panels  of  the  street-door 
divided  them  now.  In  another  instant  that  darling  head  — 
no  more  the  haunting  elusive  phantom  of  dream  —  would  be 
upon  his  breast.  Then  as  the  door  opened,  the  thought 
flashed  upon  him  that  she  might  not  be  in  —  the  idea  of  wait- 
ing a  single  moment  longer  for  her  turned  him  sick.  But  his 
fears  vanished  at  the  encouraging  expression  on  the  face 
of  the  maid  servant  who  opened  the  door. 

"  Miss  Gray's  upstairs,"  she  mumbled,  without  waiting  for 
him  to  speak.  And,  all  intelligent  reflection  swamped  by  a 
great  wave  of  joy,  he  followed  her  up  one  narrow  flight  of 
stairs,  and  passed  eagerly  into  a  room  to  which  she  pointed. 
It  was  a  bright,  cosy  room,  prettily  furnished,  and  a  cheerful 
fire  crackled  on  the  hearth.  There  were  books  and  flowers 
about,  and  engravings  on  the  walls.  The  little  round  table 
was  laid  for  tea.  Everything  smiled  "  welcome."  But  these 
details  only  gradually  penetrated  Frank's  consciousness  — 
for  the  moment  all  he  saw  was  that  She  was  not  there. 
Then  he  became  aware  of  the  fire,  and  moved  involuntarily 
towards  it,  and  held  his  hands  over  it,  for  they  were  almost 
numbed  with  the  cold.  Straightening  himself  again,  he  was 
startled  by  his  own  white  face  in  the  glass. 

He  gazed  at  it  dreamily,  and  beyond  it  towards  the  fold- 


THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY.  247 

ing-doors,  which  led  into  an  adjoining  room.  His  eyes 
fixed  themselves  fascinated  upon  these  reflected  doors,  and 
strayed  no  more.  It  was  through  them  that  she  would 
come. 

Suddenly  a  dreadful  thought  occurred  to  him.  When  she 
came  through  those  doors,  what  would  be  the  effect  of  his 
presence  upon  her?  Would  not  the  sudden  shock,  joyful 
though  it  was,  upset  the  fragile  little  beauty  ?  Had  he  not 
even  heard  of  people  dying  from  joy?  Why  had  he  not 
prepared  her  for  his  return,  if  only  to  the  tiniest  extent  ? 
The  suspicion  that  he  lacked  worldly  wisdom  gained  in 
force.  Tumultuous  suggestions  of  retreat  crossed  his 
mind  —  but  before  he  could  move,  the  folding-doors  in 
the  mirror  flew  apart,  and  a  radiant  image  dashed  lightly 
through  them.  It*was  a  vision  of  dazzling  splendour  that 
made  his  eyes  blink  —  a  beautiful  glittering  figure  in  tights 
and  tinsel,  the  prancing  prince  of  pantomime.  For  an 
infinitesimal  fraction  of  a  second,  Frank  had  the  horror  of 
the  thought  that  he  had  come  into  the  wrong  house. 

"Good  evening,  George,"  the  Prince  cried:  "I  had 
almost  given  you  up." 

Great  God  !  Was  the  voice,  indeed,  Lucy's?  Frank 
grasped  at  the  mantel,  sick  and  blind,  the  world  tumbling 
about  his  ears.  The  suspicion  that  he  lacked  worldly  wis- 
dom became  a  certainty.  Slowly  he  turned  his  head  to  face 
the  waves  of  dazzling  colour  that  tossed  before  his  dizzy 
eyes. 

The  Prince's  outstretched  hand  dropped  suddenly.  A 
startled  shriek  broke  from  the  painted  lips.  The  re-united 
lovers  stood  staring  half  blindly  at  each  other.  More  than 
the  Atlantic  rolled  between  them. 

Lucy  broke  the  terrible  silence. 

"  Brute  ! " 


248  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY. 

It  was  his  welcome  home. 

"Brute?"  he  echoed  interrogatively,  in  a  low,  hoarse 
whisper. 

"  Brute  and  cad  ! "  said  the  Prince  vehemently,  the  mu- 
sical tones  strident  with  anger.  "  Is  this  your  faith,  your 
loyalty  —  to  sneak  back  home  like  a  thief —  to  peep  through 
the  keyhole  to  see  if  I  was  a  good  little  girl  —  ?  " 

"  Lucy  !  Don't !  "  he  interrupted  in  anguished  tones. 
"  As  there  is  a  heaven  above  us,  I  had  no  suspicion  —  " 

"  But  you  have  now,"  the  Prince  interrupted  with  a  bitter 
laugh.  Neither  made  any  attempt  to  touch  the  other, 
though  they  were  but  a  few  inches  apart.  "  Out  with  it !  " 

"  Lucy,  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  you.  How  should 
I?  I  know  nothing.  It  is  for  you  to  speak.  For  pity's 
sake  tell  me  all.  What  is  this  masquerade?" 

"This  masquerade?  "  She  touched  her  pink  tights  —  he 
shuddered  at  the  touch.  "These  are  — "  She  paused. 
Why  not  tell  the  easy  lie  and  be  done  with  the  whole  busi- 
ness, and  marry  the  dear,  devoted  boy?  But  the  mad 
instinct  of  revolt  and  resentment  swept  over  her  in  a  flood 
that  dragged  the  truth  from  her  heart  and  hurled  it  at  him. 
"  These  are  the  legs  of  Prince  Prettypet.  If  I  am  lucky,  I 
shall  stand  on  them  in  the  pantomime  of  The  Enchanted 
Princess;  or,  Harlequin  Dick  Turpin,  at  the  Oriental 
Theatre.  The  man  who  has  the  casting  of  the  part  is 
coming  to  see  how  I  look." 

"You  have  gone  on  the  stage?" 

"Yes;  I  couldn't  live  on  your  lectures,"  Prince  Prettypet 
said,  still  in  the  same  resentful  tone.  "  I  couldn't  fritter 
away  the  little  capital  I  had  when  mamma  died,  and  then 
wait  for  starvation.  I  had  no  useful  accomplishments.  I 
could  only  recite  —  Athalie." 

"  But  surely  your  aunt  —  " 


THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY.  249 

"  Is  a  fiction.  Had  she  been  a  fact  it  would  have  been 
all  the  same.  I  had  had  enough  of  mamma.  No  more 
leading-strings  ! " 

"  Lucy  !     And  you  wept  over  her  so  in  your  letters?  " 

"Crocodile's  tears.  Heavens,  are  women  to  have  no 
lives  of  their  own?" 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  not  write  to  me  of  your  difficulties?  " 
he  groaned.  "  I  would  have  come  over  and  fetched  you  — 
we  would  have  borne  poverty  together." 

"  Yes,"  the  Prince  said  mockingly.  "  '  'E  was  werry  good 
to  me,  'e  was.'  Do  you  think  I  could  submit  to  government 
by  a  prig?" 

He  started  as  if  stung.  The  little  tinselled  figure,  looking 
taller  in  its  swashbuckling  habits,  stared  at  him  defiantly. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  brokenly,  "have  you  made  a  living?" 

"  No.  If  truth  must  be  told,  Lucy  Gray  —  docked  at  the 
tail,  sir  —  hasn't  made  enough  to  keep  Lucy  Grayling  in 
theatrical  costumes.  I  got  plenty  of  kudos  in  the  Provinces, 
but  two  of  my  managers  were  bogus." 

"Yes?"  he  said  vaguely. 

"  No  treasury,  don't  you  know  ?  Ghost  didn't  walk.  No 
t>of,  rhino,  shiners,  coin,  cash,  salary  ! " 

"  Do  I  understand  you  have  travelled  about  the  country 
by  yourself?  " 

"  By  myself !  What,  in  a  company  ?  You've  picked  up 
Irish  in  America.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  Lucy."  It  seemed  strange  to 
call  this  new  person  Lucy,  but  "  Miss  Grayling  "  would  have 
sounded  just  as  strange. 

"Oh,  there  was  sure  to  be  a  married  lady  —  with  her 
husband  —  in  the  troupe,  poor  thing  !  "  The  Prince  had  a 
roguish  twinkle  in  the  eye.  "  And  surely  I  am  old  enough 
to  take  care  of  myself.  Still,  I  felt  you  wouldn't  like  it. 


250  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY. 

That's  why  I  was  anxious  to  get  a  London  appearance  —  if 
only  in  East-end  pantomime.  The  money's  safe,  and  your 
notices  are  more  valuable.  I  only  want  a  show  to  take  the 
town.  I  do  hope  George  won't  disappoint  me.  I  thought 
you  were  he." 

"  Who  is  George  ?  "  he  said  slowly,  as  if  in  pain. 

The  shrill  clamour  of  the  bell  answered  him. 

"There  he  is!"  said  the  Prince  joyfully.  "George  is 
only  Georgie  Spanner,  stage-manager  of  the  Oriental.  I 
have  been  besieging  him  for  two  days.  Bella  Bright,  who 
had  to  play  Prince  Prettypet,  has  gone  and  eloped  with  the 
property-man,  and  as  soon  as  I  heard  of  it,  I  got  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  Georgie  Spanner,  and  he  said  I  was  too  little, 
and  I  said  that  was  nonsense  —  that  I  had  played  in  bur- 
lesque at  Eastbourne — Come  in  !" 

"Are  you  at  home,  miss?"  said  the  maid,  putting  her 
head  inside  the  door. 

"  Certainly,  Fanny.  That's  Mr.  Spanner  I  told  you  of —  " 
The  girl's  head  looked  puzzled  as  it  removed  itself.  "  And 
so  he  said  if  I  would  put  my  things  on,  he  would  try  and 
run  down  for  an  hour  this  evening,  and  see  if  I  looked  the 
part." 

"  And  couldn't  all  that  be  done  at  the  theatre  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  could.  But  it's  ten  times  more  convenient 
for  me  here.  And  it's  very  considerate  of  Georgie  to  come 
all  this  way  —  he's  a  very  busy  man,  I  can  tell  you." 

The  street-door  slammed  loudly. 

A  sudden  paroxysm  shook  Frank's  frame.  "  Lucy,  send 
this  man  away — for  God's  sake."  In  his  excitement  he 
came  nearer,  he  laid  his  hand  pleadingly  upon  the  glittering 
shoulder.  The  Prince  trembled  a  little  under  his  touch, 
and  stood  as  in  silent  hesitancy.  The  stairs  creaked  under 
heavy  footsteps. 


II    I' 

THE   STAGE-MANAGER. 

261 


262  THE  PRINCIPAL   BOY. 

"  Go  to  your  room,"  he  said  more  imperatively.  Even  in 
the  wreck  of  his  ideal,  it  was  an  added  bitterness  to  think 
that  limbs  whose  shapeliness  had  never  even  occurred  to 
him,  should  be  made  a  public  spectacle.  "  Put  on  decent 
clothes." 

It  was  the  wrong  chord  to  touch.  The  Prince  burst  into 
a  boisterous  laugh.  "  Silly  old  MacDougall !  " 

The  footsteps  were  painfully  near. 

"You  are  mad,"  Frank  whispered  hoarsely.  "You  are 
killing  me  —  you  whom  I  throned  as  an  angel  of  light ;  you 
who  were  the  first  woman  in  the  world  —  " 

"And  now  I'm  going  to  be  the  Principal  Boy,"  she 
laughed  quietly  back.  "  Is  that  you,  dear  old  chap?  Come 
in,  George." 

The  door  opened  —  Frank,  disgusted,  heart-broken,  moved 
back  towards  the  window-curtains.  A  corpulent,  beef-faced, 
double-chinned  man,  with  a  fat  cigar  and  a  fur  overcoat, 
came  in. 

"  How  do,  Lucy  ?  Cold,  eh  ?  What,  in  your  togs  ?  That's 
right." 

"There,  you  bad  man  !     Don't  I  look  ripping? " 

"  Stunning,  Lucy,"  he  said,  approaching  her. 

"  Well,  then,  down  on  your  knees,  George,  and  apologise 
for  saying  I  was  top  little." 

"  Well,  I  see  more  of  you  now,  he  !  he  !  he  !  Yes,  you'll 
do.  What  swell  diggings  !  " 

"  Come  to  the  fire.  Take  that  easy-chair.  There,  that's 
right,  old  man.  Now,  what  is  it  to  be  ?  There's  tea  laid  — 
you've  let  it  get  cold,  unpunctual  ruffian.  Perhaps  you'd 
like  a  brandy  and  soda  better  ?  " 

"M"  yes." 

She  rang  the  bell.  "  So  glad  —  because  there's  only  tea 
for  two,  and  I  know  my  friend  would  prefer  tea,"  with  a 


THE  PRINCIPAL   BOY.  253 

sneering  intonation.  "  Let  me  introduce  you  —  Mr.  Redhill, 
Mr.  Spanner,  you  have  heard  of  Mr.  Spanner,  the  celebrated 
author  and  stage-manager?  " 

The  celebrated  author  and  stage-manager  half  rose  in  his 
easy-chair,  startled,  and  not  over-pleased.  The  pale-faced 
rival  visitor,  half  hidden  in  the  curtains,  inclined  his  head 
stiffly,  then  moved  towards  the  door. 

"  Oh,  no,  don't  run  away  like  that,  without  a  cup  of  tea, 
in  this  bitter  weather.  Mr.  Spanner  won't  mind  talking 
business  before  you,  will  you,  George?  Such  a  dear  old 
friend,  you  know." 

It  was  a  merry  tea-party.  Lucy  rattled  away  bewitchingly, 
overpowering  Mr.  Spanner  like  an  embodied  brandy  and 
soda.  The  slang  of  the  green  room  and  the  sporting  papers 
rolled  musically  off  her  tongue,  grating  on  Frank's  ear  like 
the  scraping  of  slate  pencils.  He  had  not  insight  enough 
to  divine  that  she  was  accentuating  her  vulgar  acquirements 
to  torture  him.  Spanner  went  at  last  —  for  the  Oriental 
boards  claimed  him  —  leaving  behind  him  as  nearly  definite 
a  promise  of  the  part  as  a  stage-manager  can  ever  bring  him- 
self to  utter.  Lucy  accompanied  him  downstairs.  When 
she  returned,  Frank  was  still  sitting  as  she  had  left  him  — 
one  hand  playing  with  the  spoon  in  his  cup,  the  rest  of  the 
body  lethargic,  immobile.  She  bent  over  him  tenderly. 

"  Frank  !  "  she  whispered. 

He  shivered  and  looked  up  at  the  lovely  face,  daubed 
with  rouge  and  pencilled  at  the  eyebrows  with  black  —  as 
for  the  edification  of  the  distant  "  gods."  He  lowered  his 
eyes  again,  and  said  slowly :  "  Lucy,  I  have  come  back  to 
marry  you.  What  date  will  be  most  convenient  to  you  ?  " 

"  You  want  to  marry  me,"  she  echoed  in  low  tones.  "  All 
the  same  ! "  A  strange  wonderful  light  came  into  her 
eyes.  The  big  lashes  were  threaded  with  glistening  tears. 


254  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY. 

She  put  her  little  hand  caressingly  upon  his  hair,  and  was 
silent. 

"  Yes !  it  is  an  old  promise.     It  shall  be  kept." 

"  Ah  !  "  She  drew  her  hand  away  with  an  inarticulate  cry. 
"  Like  a  duty  dance,  but  you  do  not  love  me  ?  " 

He  ignored  the  point.  "  I  am  rich  now  —  my  father  has 
unexpectedly  become  Lord  Redhill — you  probably  heard 
it!" 

"  You  don't  love  me  !  You  can't  love  me  ! "  It  sounded 
like  the  cry  of  a  soul  in  despair, 

"  So  there's  no  need  for  either  of  us  to  earn  a  living." 

"  But  you  don't  love  me  !     You  only  want  to  save  me." 

"  Well,  of  course  Lord  Redhill  wouldn't  like  his  daughter- 
in-law  to  be  —  " 

"The  Principal  Boy  —  ha!  ha!  ha!  But  what  —  ho! 
ho  !  ho  !  I  must  laugh,  Frank,  old  man,  it  is  so  funny  — 
what  about  the  Principal  Boy?  Do  you  think  he'd  cotton 
to  the  idea  of  marrying  a  peer  in  embryo  !  Not  if  Lucy 
Gray  knows  it ;  no,  by  Jove  !  Why,  when  your  coronet 
came  along,  I  should  have  to  leave  the  stage,  or  else  people 
'ud  be  saying  I  couldn't  act  worth  a  cent.  They'd  class  me 
with  Lady  London  and  Lady  Hansard  —  oh,  Lord  !  Fancy 
me  on  the  Drury  Lane  bills  —  Prince  Prettypet,  Lady  Red- 
hill.  And  then,  great  Scot,  think  whom  they'd  class  you 
with.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  No,  my  boy,  I'm  not  going  to  marry 
a  microcephalous  idiot.  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  I  wish  somebody 
would  put  all  this  in  a  farce." 

"  Do  I  understand  that  you  wish  to  break  off  the  engage- 
ment ?  "  Frank  said  slowly,  a  note  of  surprise  in  his  voice. 

"  You've  hit  it  —  now  that  I  hear  about  this  peerage  busi- 
ness—  why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?  I'm  out  of  all  the 
gossip  of  court  circles,  and  it  wasn't  in  the  Era.  No,  I 
might  have  redeemed  my  promise  to  a  commoner,  but  a 


THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY.  255 

lord,  ugh  !  I  never  had  your  sense  of  duty,  Frank,  and  must 
really  cry  '  quits.'  Now  you  see  the  value  of  secret  engage- 
ments —  ours  is  off,  and  nobody  will  be  the  wiser  —  or  the 
worse.  Now  get  thee  to  his  lordship  —  concealment,  like  a 
worm  i'  the  bud,  no  longer  preying  upon  thy  damask  cheek. 
I  was  alway  sorry  you  had  to  keep  it  from  the  old  buffer. 
But  it  was  for  the  best,  wasn't  it? — ha!  ha!  —  it  was  for 
the  best !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

Frank  fled  down  the  staircase  followed  by  long  peals  of 
musical  laughter.  They  followed  him  into  the  bleak  night, 
which  had  no  frost  for  him  ;  but  they  became  less  musical 
as  they  rang  on,  and  as  the  terrified  maid  and  the  landlady 
strove  in  vain  to  allay  the  hysterical  tempest. 


IV. 

The  Oriental,  on  Boxing  Night,  was  like  a  baker's  oven 
for  temperature,  and  an  unopened  sardine-barrel  for  popu- 
lousness.  The  East-end  had  poured  its  rollicking  multitudes 
into  the  vast  theatre,  which  seethed  over  with  noisy  vitality. 
There  was  much  traffic  in  ginger  beer,  oranges,  Banbury 
cakes,  and  "  bitter."  The  great  audience  roared  itself 
hoarse  over  old  choruses  with  new  words.  Lucy  Gr,ay,  as 
Prince  Prettypet,  made  an  instant  success.  The  mashers 
of  the  Oriental  ogled  her  in  silent  flattery.  Her  clear 
elocution,  her  charming  singing  voice,  her  sprightly,  dancing, 
her  chic,  her  frank  vulgarity,  when  she  "  let  herself  go," 
took  every  heart  captive.  Every  heart,  that  is,  save  one, 
which  was  filled  with  sickness  and  anguish,  and  covered 
with  a  veil  of  fine  linen.  The  heir  of  the  house  of  Redhill 
cowered  at  the  back  of  the  O.P.  stage-box  —  the  only  place 
in  the  house  disengaged  when  he  drove  up  in  a  mistaken 


256  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY. 

dress-suit.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  Prince  Pretty- 
pet  since  the  merry  tea-party,  and  he  did  not  know  why  he 
was  seeing  her  now.  He  hoped  she  did  not  see  him.  She 
pirouetted  up  to  the  front  of  his  box  pretty  often  during  the 
evening,  and  several  times  hurled  ancient  wheezes  at  the 
riotous  funnymen  from  that  coign  of  vantage.  Spoken  so 
near  his  ear,  the  vulgar  jokes  tingled  through  him  like  lashes 
from  a  whip.  Once  she  sang  a  chorus,  winking  in  his 
direction.  But  that  was  the  business  of  the  song,  and  im- 
personal. He  saw  no  sure  signs  of  recognition,  and  was 
glad. 

When,  during  the  gradual  but  gorgeous  evolution  of  the 
Transformation  Scene,  he  received  a  note  from  her,  he 
remained  glad.  It  ran,  "  The  bearer  will  take  you  behind. 
I  have  no  one  to  see  me  home.  Always  your  friend  — 
Lucy."  He  went  "  behind,"  following  his  guide  through  a 
confusion  of  coatless  carpenters  waving  torches  of  blue  and 
green  fire  from  the  wings,  and  gauzy,  highly  coloured  White - 
chapel  girls  ensconcing  themselves  in  uncomfortable  atti- 
tudes on  wooden  pedestals,  which  were  mounting  and 
descending. 

Georgie  Spanner  was  bustling  about,  half  crazed,  amid  a 
hubbub  perfectly  inaudible  from  the  front ;  but  he  found 
time  to  scowl  at  Frank,  as  that  gentleman  stumbled  over  the 
pantaloon  and  fell  against  a  little  iron  lever,  whose  turning 
might  have  plunged  the  stage  in  darkness.  Frank  found 
Lucy  in  a  tiny  cellar  with  whitewashed  walls  and  a  rough 
counter,  on  which  stood  a  tin  basin  and  a  litter  of  "  make 
up"  materials.  She  had  "changed"  before  he  came.  It 
was  the  first  time  for  years  he  had  seen  her  in  her  true 
womanly  envelope.  Assuredly  she  had  grown  far  lovelier, 
and  her  face  was  flushed  with  triumph  ;  otherwise  it  was 
the  old  Lucy.  The  Prince  was  washed  off  with  the  paint. 


THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY. 


257 


Frank's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  How  hard  he  had  been  on 
her !  Nay,  had  he  not  misjudged  her?  She  looked  so 
frail,  so  little,  so  childish,  what  guile  could  she  know?  It 


THE  ORIENTAL  ON  BOXING  NIGHT. 

was  all  mere  surface-froth  on  her  lips  !  How  narrow  to  set 
up  his  life,  his  ideals,  as  models,  patterns  !  The  poor  little 
thing  had  her  own  tastes,  her  own  individuality  !  How  hard 
she  worked  to  earn  her  own  living  !  He  bent  down  and 
kissed  her  forehead,  remorsefully,  as  one  might  kiss  an  over- 


258  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOY. 

scolded  child.  She  drew  his  head  down  lower  and  kissed 
him  —  passionately  —  on  the  lips.  "Let  us  wait  a  little," 
she  said,  as  he  spoke  of  sending  for  a  hansom.  "  Sloman, 
the  lessee,  gives  a  little  supper  on  the  stage  after  the  show 
—  he'll  be  annoyed  if  I  don't  stay.  He'll  he  delighted  to 
have  you." 

The  pantomime  had  gone  better  than  anyone  had  ex- 
pected. It  had  been  insufficiently  rehearsed,  and  though 
everybody  had  said  "  it'll  be  all  right  at  night "  —  in  the 
immemorial  phrase  of  the  profession  —  they  had  said  it 
more  automatically  than  confidently.  Consequently  every- 
one was  in  high  feather,  and  agreeably  surprised  at  the 
accuracy  of  the  prophesying.  Even  Georgie  Spanner  ceased 
to  scowl  under  the  genial  influences  of  success  and  Sloman's 
very  decent  champagne.  The  air  was  full  of  laughter  and 
gaiety,  and  everybody  (except  the  clown)  cracked  jokes.  The 
leading  ladies  made  themselves  pleasant,  and  did  not  swear. 
Everybody  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  new  respect  for  Lucy, 
seeing  her  with  such  a  real  Belgravian  swell.  Probably  she 
would  soon  have  a  theatre  of  her  own. 

It  was  the  Prig's  first  excursion  into  Bohemia,  and  he 
thought  the  natives  very  civil-spoken,  naive,  and  cordial. 
Frank  had  no  doubt  now  that  Lucy  was  right,  that  he  was 
a  Prig  to  want  to  redeem  mankind.  And  the  conviction 
that  he  lacked  worldly  wisdom  was  sealed  for  aye. 


V. 

So  he  married  her. 


An  Odd  Life. 


IT  was  the  most  curious  case  of  croup  I  had  ever  attended. 
Not  that  there  was  anything  unusual  about  the  symptoms 
—  they  were  so  correct  as  to  be  devoid  of  the  slightest 
interest.  Certainly  they  were  not  worth  while  being  called 
up  for  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  The  patient  it  was  that 
attracted  my  attention.  He  was  a  handsome  baby  of  one 
year  and  nine  months  —  by  name  Willy  Streetside  —  with 
such  an  expression  of  candour  and  intelligence  that  I  was 
moved  to  see  him  suffer.  I  sat  down  by  his  bedside,  took 
his  poor  little  feverish  hand,  and  felt  the  weak  quick  pulse, 
and  knew  it  had  not  much  longer  to  beat.  I  put  the  glass 
of  barley  and  water  to  his  lips,  and  he  drank  eagerly.  He 
seemed  to  be  an  orphan,  in  charge  of  a  strange,  silent 
serving-man,  apparently  the  only  other  occupant  of  the 
luxurious  and  artistically  furnished  flat.  I  judged  Downton 
to  be  a  man  of  some  culture,  from  the  latest  magazines 
strewn  about  the  bedroom ;  but  I  could  not  help  thinking 
that  a  female,  more  familiar  with  infantile  ailments,  might 
have  been  more  useful.  Apathetic  and  torpid  though  I  was, 
from  eighteen  hours'  continuous  activity  in  a  hundred  sick- 
rooms, my  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  I  sat  for  an  instant, 
holding  the  little  hand,  listening  to  the  poor  child's  painful 
breathing,  and  speculating  on  the  mystery  of  that  existence 
so  early  recalled.  All  his  organs  were  sound.  But  for  this 
accidental  croup,  I  told  myself,  he  might  have  lived  till 


260  AN  ODD  LIFE. 

eighty.  "  Poor  Willy  Streetside  !  "  I  murmured,  for  his 
curious  name  clung  to  my  memory. 

Suddenly  the  baby  turned  his  blue  eyes  full  on  me,  and 
said: 

"  I  suppose  it's  all  up,  doctor?  " 

I  started  violently,  and  let  go  his  hand.  The  words  were 
perhaps  not  altogether  beyond  the  capacity  of  an  infant ; 
but  the  air  of  manly  resignation  with  which  they  were 
uttered  was  astonishing.  For  more  reasons  than  one,  I 
hesitated. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me  the  truth,"  said  the 
baby,  with  a  wistful  smile  ;  "  I'm  not  afraid  to  hear  it." 

"  Well  —  well,  you're  pretty  bad,"  I  stammered. 

"Ah!  thank  you,"  the  child  replied  gratefully.  "How 
many  hours  do  you  give  me?  " 

The  baby's  gravity  took  my  breath  away.  He  spoke  with 
an  old-world  courtesy  and  the  ingenuous  stateliness  of  an 
infant  prince. 

"  It  may  not  be  quite  hopeless,"  I  murmured. 

Willy  shook  his  head,  the  pretty,  wan  features  distorted  by 
a  quaint  grimace. 

"  I  suppose  I'm  too  young  to  rally,"  he  said  quietly,  and 
closed  his  eyes. 

Presently  he  re-opened  them,  and  added  : 

"  But  I  should  have  liked  to  live  to  see  the  Irish  question 
settled." 

"  You  would?  "  I  ejaculated,  overwhelmed. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  adding  with  a  whimsical  expression  in  the 
wee  blue  eyes  :  "  You  mustn't  think  I  crave  for  earthly  im- 
mortality. I  use  '  settled  '  in  a  merely  rough  sense.  My 
mother  was  an  Irish  poetess,  over  whose  songs  impetuous 
Celts  still  break  their  hearts  and  their  heads." 

I   gazed   speechless   at   this   wonder-child,    pushing   the 


AN  ODD  LIFE.  261 

golden  locks  back  from  his  feverish  baby-brow,  as  if  to 
assure  myself  by  touching  him  that  he  was  not  a  phantom. 

"  Ah,  well !  "  he  finished,  "  it  doesn't  matter.  I  have 
had  my  day,  and  mustn't  grumble.  I  scarcely  thought, 
when  I  witnessed  the  dissolution  of  the  third  Gladstone 
Government,  that  I  should  have  lived  to  see  him  Premier  a 
fourth  time.  Three  doctors  told  me  I  was  breaking  up  fast." 

I  began  to  be  frightened  of  this  extraordinary  infant, 
divining  some  wizardry  behind  the  candid  little  face  —  some 
latter-day  mystery  of  re-incarnation,  esoteric  Buddhism, 
what-not.  The  child  perceived  my  perturbation. 

"You  are  thinking  I  have  packed  a  good  deal  into  my 
short  life,"  he  said,  with  an  amused  smile.  "  And  yet  some 
men  will  make  a  Gladstone  bag  hold  as  much  as  a  port- 
manteau. Gladstone  has  done  so ;  and  why  not  I,  in  my 
humble  degree  ?  " 

"  True,"  I  answered ;  "  but  you  cannot  begin  to  pack 
before  you  are  born." 

"You  are  entirely  mistaken,"  replied  the  baby,  "if  you 
think  I  have  done  anything  so  precocious  as  that." 

"Then  you  must  have  lived  an  odd  life,"  I  said,  puzzled. 

"  You  have  hit  it !  "  exclaimed  the  child,  with  a  suspicion 
of  eagerness,  not  unmingled  with  surprise.  "I  did  not 
mean  to  tell  anyone ;  but  since  you  are  a  man  of  science 
and  I  am  on  the  point  of  death,  you  may  as  well  know  you 
have  guessed  the  truth." 

"  Have  I?"  I  said,  more  bewildered  than  ever. 

"  Yes.  In  all  these  years  no  one  has  suspected  .it.  It 
has  been  carefully  kept  from  outsiders.  But  now  it  would, 
perhaps,  be  childish  folly  to  be  reticent  about  it.  It  is  the 
truth  —  the  plain,  literal  truth  —  I  have  lived  an  odd  life." 

"How  did  it  begin?"  I  asked,  scarce  knowing  what  I 
said  or  what  I  meant. 


262  AN  ODD  LIFE. 

"  You  shall  know  all,"  said  Willy.  "  I  must  begin  before 
I  was  born  —  before  I  could  begin  packing,  as  you  put  it." 

His  breath  came  and  went  painfully.  Overwrought  with 
curiosity  as  I  was,  I  experienced  a  pang  of  compunction. 

"No,  no;  never  mind,"  I  said;  "you  have  not  the 
strength  to  speak  much  —  you  must  not  waste  what  you 
have." 

"  It  can  only  cost  me  a  few  minutes  of  life  —  I  can  spare 
the  time,"  he  answered,  almost  peevishly. 

Now  that  he  had  been  strung  up  to  speaking  point,  he 
seemed  to  resent  my  diminished  interest. 

I  put  the  glass  of  barley  and  water  to  his  lips,  and  forced 
him  to  moisten  his  throat. 

"  I  can  spare  the  time,"  he  repeated,  while  an  air  of 
grim  satisfaction  came  over  the  tiny  features.  "  I  have 
stolen  plenty  —  I  have  outwitted  the  arch-thief  himself.  I 
have  survived  my  own  death." 

"What !  "  I  gasped.     "Have  you  already  died?" 

"  No,  no,"  he  replied  fretfully ;  "  I  am  only  just  going  to 
die.  That  is  how  I  have  survived  my  death.  How  dull 
you  are  ! " 

"You  were  going  to  begin  at  the  beginning,"  I  murmured 
feebly. 

"  No  !  What  is  the  use  of  beginning  at  the  beginning?  " 
this  enfant  terrible  enquired,  in  the  same  peevish  tones.  "  I 
was  going  to  begin  before  the  beginning." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  said  soothingly,  patting  his  golden  curls ; 
"you  were  going  to  begin  before  you  were  born." 

"  With  my  mother,"  he  said  more  gently.  "  She  did  not 
lead  a  very  happy  life  —  it  enabled  her  to  hymn  the  wrongs 
of  her  country.  Her  childhood  was  a  succession  of  sorrows, 
her  girlhood  a  mass  of  misfortunes ;  and  when  she  married 
the  man  she  loved,  she  found  herself  deserted  by  him  a  few 


AN  ODD  LIFE.  263 

months  later.  It  was  then  that  she  first  conceived  the 
thought  that  has  changed  my  life.  It  came  to  her  in  a 
moment  of  tears,  as  she  sat  over  the  ashes  of  her  happiness. 
From  that  moment  the  thought  never  left  her." 

There  was  a  wild  look  in  the  baby's  eyes.  I  began  to 
suspect  him  of  premature  insanity. 

"  What  was  this  thought?  "  I  murmured. 

"  I  am  coming  to  it.  There  came  into  her  head  suddenly 
the  refrain  of  a  song  she  had  learnt  at  school :  '  Life  like  a 
river  with  constant  motion.'  '  The  river  of  life  !  The  stream 
of  life  !  How  true  it  is  ! '  she  mused.  '  How  much  more 
than  mere  metaphors  these  phrases  are  !  Verily,  one's  life 
flows  on  towards  the  dark  ocean  of  death,  irresistibly,  un- 
restingly,  willy-nilly  —  whether  swift  or  slow,  whether  long 
or  short  —  whether  it  flows  through  pleasant  champaigns  or 
dreary  marshes,  past  romantic  castled  crags,  or  by  bleak 
quarries.  What  is  the  use  of  experience,  of  knowledge  of 
past  bits  of  the  route,  when  no  two  bits  are  ever  really  alike, 
when  the  future  course  is  hidden  and  is  always  a  pano- 
rama of  surprises,  when  no  life-stream  knows  what  awaits  it 
round  the  corner  every  time  it  turns,  when  the  scenery  of 
the  source  avails  one  nothing  in  one's  resistless  progress 
towards  the  scenery  of  the  mouth  ?  What  is  life  but  a  series 
of  mistakes,  whose  fruit  is  wisdom,  maybe,  but  wisdom  over- 
ripe? We  do  not  pluck  the  fruit  till  it  will  no  longer 
serve  our  appetites.  Nothing  repeats  itself  on  the  stage  of 
existence  —  always  new  situations  and  new  follies.  Experi- 
entia  docet.  Experience  teaches,  indeed ;  but  her  lesson  is 
that  nothing  can  be  learnt.'  " 

The  baby  paused,  and  reached  out  his  wasted  hand  for 
the  glass.  His  pinafore  and  his  tiny  shoes  on  the  chest  of 
drawers  caught  my  eye,  and  moistened  it  with  the  thought 
he  would  never  don  them  again. 


264  AN  ODD  LIFE. 

11  As  my  mother  brooded  upon  this  bitter  truth,"  he 
resumed,  when  he  had  refreshed  himself,  "and  saw  how  sad 
an  illustration  of  it  was  her  own  life  — with  its  sufferings  and 
its  mistakes  —  she  could  not  help  wishing  existence  had 
been  ordered  otherwise.  If  we  had  had  at  least  two  lives, 
we  might  profit  in  the  second  by  the  first.  But,  she  told 
herself,  with  a  sigh,  this  was  vain  day-dreaming.  Then  sud- 
denly the  thought  flashed  upon  her.  Granting  that  more 
than  one  life  was  impossible  upon  this  planet,  why  should 
it  not  be  differently  distributed  ?  Suppose,  instead  of  flow- 
ing on  like  a  stream,  one's  life  progressed  like  a  London 
street  —  the  odd  numbers  on  the  one  side  and  the  even  on 
the  other,  so  that  after  doing  the  numbers  i,  3,  5,  7,  9,  n, 
&c.,  &c.,  one  could  return  and  do  the  numbers  2,  4,  6,  8, 
10,  12,  &c.,  &c.  Without  craving  from  Providence  more 
than  man's  allotted  span,  what  if,  by  a  slight  re-arrangement 
of  the  years,  it  were  possible  to  extort  an  infinitely  greater 
degree  of  happiness  from  one's  life-time  !  What  if  it  were 
possible  to  live  the  odd  years,  gleaning  experience  as  well  as 
joys,  and  then  to  return  to  the  even  years,  armed  with  all 
the  wisdom  of  one's  age  !  What  if  her  child  could  enjoy 
this  inestimable  privilege  !  The  thought  haunted  her,  she 
brooded  on  it  day  and  night ;  and  when  I  was  born,  she 
drew  me  eagerly  towards  her,  as  if  to  see  some  mark  of 
promise  written  on  my  forehead.  But  a  year  passed  before 
she  dared  to  think  her  wish  had  found  fulfilment.  On  the 
eve  of  my  first  birthday  she  measured  and  weighed  me  with 
intense  anxiety,  though  pretending  to  herself  she  only  wished 
to  keep  a  register  of  my  growth.  In  the  morning  I  was 
more  by  a  year's  inches  and  pounds.  I  had  shot  up  at  a 
bound  into  my  third  year,  and  manifested  sudden  symptoms 
of  walking  and  talking.  She  almost  fainted  with  joy  when 
my  unexpected  teeth  bit  her  finger.  She  could  not  get  my 


AN  ODD  LIFE.  265 

shoes  on  me,  nor  my  frock.  But,  although  my  mother  had 
made  no  preparations  for  my  changed  condition,  she  wel- 
comed the  trouble  I  put  her  to,  and  carefully  laid  aside  my 
useless  garments,  knowing  I  should  want  them  again.  The 
neighbours  noticed  nothing;  they  thought  me  a  big  boy  for 
my  age,  and  extremely  precocious.  When  I  was  in  my  fifth 
year  I  went  on  the  stage  as  an  '  infant  phenomenon,'  my  age 
being  attested  by  my  certificate  of  birth,  though  you  will  of 
course  see  that  I  was  really  in  my  ninth.  In  the  next  few 
years  I  made  enough  money  to  gild  my  mother's  few  declin- 
ing years ;  and  when  I  retired  temporarily  from  the  boards 
at  the  advice  of  my  critics,  it  was  of  course  with  the  inten- 
tion of  studying  and  returning  to  the  stage  when  I  was 
younger.  And  so  I  advanced  to  manhood,  skipping  the 
alternate  years.  I  rejoice  to  say  that  my  mother,  though 
she  died  when  I  was  seventy-three,  had  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  what  felicity  her  unselfish  aspiration  had  brought 
into  my  life  She  told  me  of  my  strange  exemption  from 
the  common  burden  of  continuous  existence,  as  soon  as  I 
had  skipped  into  years  of  discretion.  Not  for  me  did  Time 
pass  with  that  tragic  footstep  which  never  returns  on  itself; 
for  me  he  was  not  the  irrevocable,  the  relentless.  I  regretted 
my  lost  youth  —  but  it  was  not  with  hopeless,  passionate  tears, 
with  mutinous  yearnings  after  the  impossible ;  it  was  as  one 
who  waves  a  regretful  adieu  to  a  charming  girl  he  will  meet 
again." 

"Ah  !  but  you  will  not  meet  her  again,"  I  said  softly. 

"  No  ;  but  the  feeling  was  the  same.  Of  course,,  when  I 
was  thirty  I  did  not  know  I  should  die  before  I  was  two.  I 
had  no  more  privilege  of  prescience  than  the  ordinary 
mortal.  But  in  everything  else  how  enviable  was  my  lot 
compared  to  his  whom  every  day  is  sweeping  towards 
Death,  for  whom  no  vision  of  renewed  youth  gleams  behind 


266  AN  ODD  LIFE. 

the  black  hangings  !  Oh  !  the  glory  of  growing  old  without 
dread,  with  the  assurance  that  age,  which  is  ripening  you,  is 
not  ripening  you  for  the  Gleaner,  that  the  years  will  add 
wisdom  without  eternally  subtracting  the  capacity  for  joy, 
and  that  every  tottering  step  is  bringing  you  nearer,  not  the 
Grave,  but  the  joyous  resurrection  of  your  youth  !  " 

"And  you  have  experienced  that?"  I  cried,  with  envious 
incredulity. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  baby  solemnly.  "Of  course  I  pre- 
pared for  the  Great  Change.  Not  that  Nature  did  not  her- 
self smooth  the  metamorphosis.  The  loss  of  teeth,  the 
gradual  baldness,  the  feeble  limbs,  everything  pointed  to 
the  proximity  of  my  Second  Childhood.  I  knew  that  my 
odd  life  had  not  much  longer  to  run,  that  at  any  moment 
the  transformation  might  take  place  and  the  even  numbers 
begin.  Giving  out  that  I  was  going  to  explore  the  African 
deserts,  and  accompanied  only  by  my  faithful  body-servant, 
Downton,  I  retired  to  Egypt  to  await  the  great  event,  having 
previously  ordered  baby-linen  and  the  various  requisites  of 
infantile  toilette.  I  had  at  one  time  meditated  providing 
myself  with  parents,  but  ultimately  concluded  that  they 
would  prove  too  troublesome  to  manage,  and  that  it  would 
be  better  to  trust  myself  entirely  to  the  management  of 
Downton,  since  I  had  already  placed  myself  in  his  power 
by  leaving  him  all  my  money." 

"  But  what  necessity  was  there  for  that?  "  I  enquired."" 

"  Every  necessity,"  he  .replied  gravely.  "  Do  you  not  see 
that  I  had  to  arrange  all  my  affairs  and  make  my  will  before 
being  born  again,  because  afterwards  I  should  not  be  of  legal 
age  for  ten  years.  At  first  I  thought  of  leaving  all  my  money 
to  myself  and  passing  as  my  own  child,  but  there  would 
have  been  difficulties.  I  was  unmarried  and  seventy-seven. 
Downton  could  easily  pretend  his  septuagenarian  master 


AN  ODD  LIFE.  267 

had  died  in  the  African  deserts,  but  he  could  not  so  easily 
patch  up  a  marriage  there.  I  had  no  option,  therefore,  but 
to  make  Downton  my  heir,  and  I  have  never  had  occasion 
to  regret  it  from  the  day  of  my  rebirth  to  this,  the  day  of 
my  death.  As  soon  as  I  was  born  we  returned  to  England, 
and  I  wrote  my  obituary  and  drove  to  the  Press  Association 
with  it.  Downton  took  it  into  the  office  while  I  waited  in 
Fleet  Street  in  the  hansom.  I  can  scarcely  hope  to  convey 
to  you  an  idea  of  the  intensity  and  agreeableness  of  my 
sensations  at  this  unprecedented  epoch.  The  variegated 
life  of  Fleet  Street  gave  me  the  keenest  joy :  every  sight 
and  every  sound  —  beautiful  or  sordid  —  thrilled  my  nerves 
to  rapture.  I  was  interested  in  everything.  Imagine  the 
delicious  freshness  of  one's  second  year  supervening  upon 
the  jaded  sensibilities  of  seventy-seven.  All  my  wide  and 
varied  knowledge  of  life  lay  in  my  soul  as  before,  but  trans- 
figured. Over  my  large  experience  of  men  and  things  was 
shed  a  stream  of  sunshine  which  irradiated  everything  with 
divine  light ;  every  streak  of  cynicism  faded.  I  had  the 
wisdom  of  an  old  man  apd  the  heart  of  a  little  child.  I 
believed  in  man  again,  and  even  in  woman.  I  shed  tears 
of  pure  ecstasy ;  and  when  I  heard  a  female  of  the  lower 
classes  say  :  '  Poor  little  thing  !  What  a  shame  to  leave  it 
crying  in  a  cab  ! '  I  laughed  aloud  in  glee.  She  exclaimed  : 
'  Ah  !  now  it's  laughing,  my  petsy-wootsy  !  '  Her  conversa- 
tion saddened  me  again,  and  I  was  glad  I  had  not  burdened 
myself  with  a  mother,  and  that  I  took  my  milk  from  a  bot- 
tle instead  of  a  doting  nurse.  And  how  exquisite  was  this 
same  apparently  monotonous  menu  of  milk  to  an  epicurean 
who  had  ruined  his  digestion  !  I  felt  I  was  recuperating  on 
a  vegetarian  diet,  and  I  rejoiced  to  think  some  years  must 
elapse  before  I  would  care  for  champagne  or  re-acquire  a 
taste  for  full-flavoured  Manillas.  Perhaps  somewhat  unrea- 


268  AN  ODD  LIFE. 

sonably,  I  was  proud  of  my  strength  of  will,  which  had 
enabled  me  in  one  day  to  abandon  tobacco  without  a  pang, 
and  seven-course  dinners  without  repining.  I  slept  a  good 
deal,  too,  at  this  period,  whereas  I  had  previously  been 
greatly  exercised  by  insomnia.  But  these  joys  of  the  senses 
were  as  nothing  to  the  joys  of  the  intellect.  An  exquisite 
curiosity  played  like  a  sea-breeze  about  my  long-stagnant 
soul.  All  my  early  interests  revived ;  worldly  propositions 
I  had  thought  settled  showed  themselves  unstable  and  volant ; 
everything  was  shaken  by  the  moving  spirit  of  youth.  The- 
ology, poetry,  and  even  metaphysics  became  alive ;  all  sorts 
of  unpractical  questions  became  suddenly  burning.  I  saw 
in  myself  the  seeds  of  a  great  thinker  :  a  felicitous  congruity 
of  opposite  capacities  that  had  never  before  met  in  a  single 
man  —  the  sobriety  of  age  tempered  by  the  audacity  of 
youth,  fire  and  water,  judgment  and  inspiration.  I  was 
revolutionist  and  reactionary  in  one.  I  read  all  the  new 
books,  and  agreed  with  all  the  old." 

"  All  you  tell  me  only  makes  the  pathos  of  your  premature 
death  more  intolerable,"  I  said  in  moved  accents.  "You 
are,  like  Keats  and  Chatterton,  —  only  an  earlier  edition,  — 
an  inheritor  of  unfulfilled  renown." 

The  little  blue  eyes  smiled  wistfully  at  me. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  wee  rose-lips,  with  a  quiver.  "  Don't 
you  see,. I  have  already  dodged  Death?  Evidently,  if  I  had 
taken  my  second  year  in  its  natural  order,  I  should  have 
been  cut  short  by  croup  at  the  outset.  Apparently  I  had 
enough  vital  energy  in  me  to  have  lasted  till  seventy-seven, 
if  I  could  only  get  over  the  croup.  I  think  one  ought  to 
be  satisfied  with  having  survived  himself  by  thirty  odd 
years." 

"  Yes,  if  you  put  it  like  that,  the  pathos  lightens,"  I  ad- 
mitted. "  Of  course  I  saw  from  the  first  that  you  were 


AN  ODD  LIFE.  269 

considerably  in  advance  of  your  age.  Did  you  assure  your 
life?"  I  asked,  with  a  sudden  thought. 

"  I  did  ;  but  by  an  oversight  I  let  the  policy  be  invalidated 
by  my  imaginary  expedition  to  the  African  deserts.  Down- 
ton  has,  however,  taken  out  a  fresh  policy  for  my  new 
life." 

"  What  a  baffling  complex  of  probabilities  would  be  added 
to  Life  Assurances  if  your  way  of  living  were  to  become 
general !  "  I  observed.  "  Downton  will  probably  more  than 
recoup  himself  for  his  first  loss.  Have  you  always  been  a 
bachelor,  by  the  way?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  baby,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  missed  marriage  ; 
it  probably  fell  in  an  even  year." 

"  Poor  child  ! "  I  cried,  my  eyes  growing  humid  again. 
To  think,  too,  of  that  beautiful  young  girl,  that  fond  wife, 
waiting  for  him  who  would  never  come  ;  that  innocent  maiden 
cheated  of  love  and  happiness  because  her  appointed  hus- 
band had  not  lived  in  the  other  alternate  series  of  years, — 
to  think  of  this  tangled  tragedy  moved  me  to  fresh  tears, 
not  a  few  of  which  were  for  the  husband  who  never  was. 

"  Nay,  do  not  pity  me,"  said  the  baby,  and  his  tones  were 
hushed  and  low,  and  in  his  heavenly  blue  eyes  I  seemed  to 
read  the  high  sorrowful  wisdom  of  the  ages ;  "  for,  since  I 
have  lain  here  on  this  bed  of  sickness  with  no  spectacular 
whirl  to  claim  my  thoughts,  with  four  walls  for  my  horizon, 
and  the  agony  of  death  in  my  throat,  the  darker  side  of  my 
dual  existence  has  been  borne  in  upon  me.  I  see  the 
shadow  cast  by  the  sunshine  of  my  privilege  of  double  birth  ; 
I  see  the  curse  which  is  the  obverse  of  the  blessing  my 
mother's  prayers  brought  me ;  I  see  myself  dissipating  a 
youth  which  I  knew  would  recur,  throwing  away  a  manhood 
which  I  knew  would  come  again,  and  sinking  into  a  sensual 
senility  which  I  knew  would  pass  into  an  innocent  infancy. 


270  AN  ODD  LIFE. 

I  see  myself  rejecting  the  best  gifts  and  the  highest  duties  of 
To- Day  for  the  illusory  felicities  and  the  far-away  virtues  of 
the  Day-After-To-Morrow.  I  see  myself  passing  by  Love 
with  the  reflection  that  I  should  be  passing  again ;  putting 
off  Purity  with  the  thought  that  I  should  be  round  that  way 
presently ;  and  waving  to  Duty  an  amicable  salute  of  '  Ex- 
pect me  soon.'  And  in  this  moment  of  clear  vision  I  see 
not  only  my  past,  I  realise  what  my  future  would  be  if  I 
lived.  I  see  the  influx  of  fresh  feeling  gradually  exhausted, 
overcome,  ousted,  and  finally  replaced  by  a  satiety  more 
horrible  than  that  of  the  septuagenarian,  as  I  came  to  realise 
that  life  for  me  held  no  surprises,  no  lures  to  curiosity,  that 
the  future  was  no  enchanted  realm  of  mysterious  possibil- 
ities, that  the  white  clouds  revealed  no  seraph  shapes  on  the 
horizon,  that  Hope  did  not  stand  like  a  veiled  bride  with 
beckoning  finger,  that  fairies  were  not  lurking  round  every 
corner  nor  magic  palaces  waiting  to  start  up  at  every  turn. 
I  see  life  stretching  before  me  like  old  ground  I  had  been 
over  —  in  my  mother's  image  like  a  street  one  side  of  which 
I  had  walked  down.  What  could  the  other  offer  of  fresh,  of 
delightful  ?  It  is  so  rarely  one  side  differs  from  the  other : 
a  church  for  a  public-house,  a  grocer's  instead  of  a  book- 
shop. Conceive  the  horror  of  foreknowledge  :  of  having  no 
sensations  to  learn  and  few  new  emotions  to  feel ;  to  have, 
moreover,  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  sicklied  over  with  the 
prescience  of  senile  cynicism,  and  the  healthy  vigour  of 
manhood  made  flaccid  by  anticipations  of  the  dodderings 
of  age  !  I  foresee  the  ever-growing  dismay  at  the  leaps 
and  bounds  with  which  my  youth  was  fleeting.  I  see  my- 
self, instead  of  profiting  by  my  experience,  feverishly  clutch- 
ing at  every  pleasure  on  my  path,  as  a  drowning  man,  borne 
along  by  a  torrent,  snatches  at  every  scrap  of  flotsam  and 
jetsam.  I  see  manhood  arrive  only  to  pass  away,  as  an 


AN  ODD  LIFE. 


271 


express  passes  through  a  petty  station,  full  speed  for  the 
terminus.  I  see  a  panic  terror  close  upon  me  with  every 
hurrying  year  at  the  knowledge  that  my  hours  were  thirty 
minutes  and  my  months  virtually  fortnights,  and  that  I  was 


"THE   ENTHUSIASM   OF  YOUTH   SICKLIED   OVER   WITH   THE   PRESCIENCE 
OF   SENILE  CYNICISM." 

leading  the  fastest  life  on  record.  Add  to  this  the  anguish 
of  feeling  myself  torn  from  the  bosom  of  the  wife  I  loved 
and  hurried  away  from  the  embraces  of  the  children  whose 
careers  it  would  be  my  solicitude  to  watch  over.  Imagine 
the  agony  if  I  had  been  cruelly  spared  to  my  seventy-eighth 


272  AN  ODD  LIFE. 

year  —  the  agony  of  a  condemned  criminal  who  does  not 
know  on  what  day  he  is  to  be  execu  —  " 

His  voice  failed  suddenly.  He  had  slightly  raised  him- 
self on  his  pillow  in  his  excitement,  but  now  his  head  fell 
back,  revealing  the  fatal  white  patches  on  the  baby  throat. 
I  seized  his  hand  quickly  to  feel  his  pulse.  The  little  palm 
lay  cold  in  mine.  I  started  violently  and  sat  up  rigidly  in 
my  chair. 

The  child  was  dead.     Downton  was  sobbing  at  my  side. 

As  I  was  writing  out  the  certificate,  an  odd  thought  came 
into  my  head.  I  scribbled  what  I  thought  an  appropriate 
epitaph  and  showed  it  to  Downton,  but  he  glared  at  me 
furiously.  I  hastened  home  to  bed. 

My  epitaph  ran : 

HERE  LIES 

WILLIAM    ("WILLY")    STREETSIDE, 

WHO   LED   A   DOUBLE  LIFE, 

AND  DIED   IN   BLAMELESS   REPUTE, 

AT  THE  AVERAGE  AGE 

OF   39  YEARS. 
"  And  in  their  death  they  were  not  divided. " 


Cheating  the  Gallows. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A   CURIOUS   COUPLE. 

THEY  say  that  a  union  of  opposites  makes  the  happiest 
marriage,  and  perhaps  it  is  on  the  same  principle  that  men 
who  chum  together  are  always  so  oddly  assorted.  You  shall 
find  a  man  of  letters  sharing  diggings  with  an  auctioneer,  and 
a  medical  student  pigging  with  a  stockbroker's  clerk.  Per- 
haps each  thus  escapes  the  temptation  to  talk  "  shop  "  in  his 
hours  of  leisure,  while  he  supplements  his  own  experiences 
of  life  by  his  companion's. 

There  could  not  be  an  odder  couple  than  Tom  Peters  and 
Everard  G.  Roxdal  —  the  contrast  began  with  their  names, 
and  ran  through  the  entire  chapter.  They  had  a  bedroom 
and  a  sitting-room  in  common,  but  it  would  not  be  easy  to 
find  what  else.  To  his  landlady,  worthy  Mrs.  Seacon,  Tom 
Peters's  profession  was  a  little  vague,  but  everybody  knew  that 
Roxdal  was  the  manager  of  the  City  and  Suburban  Bank, 
and  it  puzzled  her  to  think  why  a  bank  manager  should  live 
with  such  a  seedy-looking  person,  who  smoked  clay  pipes 
and  sipped  whisky-and-water  all  the  evening  when  he  was  at 
home.  For  Roxdal  was  as  spruce  and  erect  as  his  fellow- 
lodger  was  round-shouldered  and  shabby  ;  he  never  smoked, 
and  he  confined  himself  to  a  small  glass  of  claret  at  dinner. 
273 


274 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS. 


It  is  possible  to  live  with  a  man  and  see  very  little  of  him. 
Where  each  of  the  partners  lives  his  own  life  in  his  own  way, 
with  his  own  circle  of  friends  and  external  amusements,  days 
may  go  by  without  the  men  having  five  minutes  together. 
Perhaps  this  explains  why  these  partnerships  jog  along  so 


TOM    PETERS. 


EVERARD   G.    ROXDAL. 


much  more  peaceably  than  marriages,  where  the  chain  is 
drawn  so  much  tighter,  and  galls  the  partners  rather  than 
links  them.  Diverse,  however,  as  were  the  hours  and  habits 
of  the  chums,  they  often  breakfasted  together,  and  they 
agreed  in  one  thing  —  they  never  stayed  out  at  night.  For 
the.  rest  Peters  sought  his  diversions  in  the  company  of 
journalists,  and  frequented  debating  rooms,  where  he  pro- 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS.  275 

pounded  the  most  iconoclastic  views ;  while  Roxdal  had 
highly  respectable  houses  open  to  him  in  the  suburbs,  and 
was,  in  fact,  engaged  to  be  married  to  Clara  Newell,  the 
charming  daughter  of  a  retired  corn  factor,  a  widower  with 
no  other  child. 

Clara  naturally  took  up  a  good  deal  of  Roxdal's  time,  and 
he  often  dressed  to  go  to  the  play  with  her,  while  Peters 
stayed  at  home  in  a  faded  dressing-gown  and  loose  slippers. 
Mrs.  Seacon  liked  to  see  gentlemen  about  the  house  in 
evening  dress,  and  made  comparisons  not  favourable  to 


ASKED  TWENTY-FIVE  PER   CENT   MORE. 

Peters.  And  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  gave  her  infi- 
nitely less  trouble  than  the  younger  man.  It  was  Peters  who 
first  took  the  apartments,  and  it  was  characteristic  of  his 
easy-going  temperament  that  he  was  so  openly  and  naively 
delighted  with  the  view  of  the  Thames  obtainable  from  the 
bedroom  window,  that  Mrs.  Seacon  was  emboldened  to  ask 
twenty-five  per  cent  more  than  she  had  intended.  She  soon 
returned  to  her  normal  terms,  however,  when  his  friend 
Roxdal  called  the  next  day  to  inspect  the  rooms,  and  over- 
whelmed her  with  a  demonstration  of  their  numerous  short- 
comings. He  pointed  out  that  their  being  on  the  ground 
floor  was  not  an  advantage,  but  a  disadvantage,  since  they 


276 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS. 


were  nearer  the  noises  of  the  street  —  in  fact,  the  house 
being  a  corner  one,  the  noises  of  two  streets.  Roxdal  con- 
tinued to  exhibit  the  same  finicking  temperament  in  the 

petty  details  of  the  me- 
nage.    His  shirt  fronts 
were  never  sufficiently 
starched,  nor  his  boots 
sufficiently      polished. 
Tom  Peters,  having  no 
regard  for  rigid  linen, 
was  always  good-tem- 
pered   and     satisfied, 
and  never  acquired  the 
respect    of   his    land- 
lady.    He  wore   blue 
check  shirts  and  loose 
ties  even  on  Sundays. 
It  is  true  he  did  not  go  to  church, 
but  slept  on  till  Roxdal  returned 
from  morning  service,  and  even 
then  it  was  difficult  to  get  him  out  of  bed, 
vjr    or  to  make  him  hurry  up  his  toilette  oper- 
ations.   Often  the  mid-day  meal  would  be 
smoking  on  the  table  while  Peters  would  be 
still  reading  in  bed,  and  Roxdal,  with  his  head 
thrust  through  the  folding-doors  that  sepa- 
rated  the   bedroom   from   the  sitting-room, 
"  FOR  HIS  SHAV-  would  be  adjuring  the  sluggard  to  arise  and 
ING-WATER."      shake  off  his  slumbers,  and  threatening  to  sit 
down  without  him,  lest  the  dinner  be  spoilt. 
In  revenge,  Tom  was  usually  up  first  on  week-days,  some- 
times at  such  unearthly  hours  that  Polly  had  not  yet  re- 
moved the  boots  from  outside  the  bedroom  door,  and  would 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS.  277 

bawl  down  to  the  kitchen  for  his  shaving-water.  For  Tom, 
lazy  and  indolent  as  he  was,  shaved  with  the  unfailing  regu- 
larity of  a  man  to  whom  shaving  has  become  an  instinct. 
If  he  had  not  kept  fairly  regular  hours,  Mrs.  Seacon  would 
have  set  him  down  as  an  actor,  so  clean  shaven  was  he. 
Roxdal  did  not  shave.  He  wore  a  full  beard,  and,  being  a 
fine  figure  of  a  man  to  boot,  no  uneasy  investor  could  look 
upon  him  without  being  reassured  as  to  the  stability  of  the 
bank  he  managed  so  successfully.  And  thus  the  two  men 
lived  in  an  economical  comradeship,  all  the  firmer,  perhaps, 
for  their  mutual  incongruities. 

CHAPTER  II. 
A  WOMAN'S  INSTINCT. 

IT  was  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  in  the  middle  of  October, 
ten  days  after  Roxdal  had  settled  in  his  new  rooms,  that 
Clara  Newell  paid  her  first  visit  to  him  there.  She  enjoyed 
a  good  deal  of  liberty,  and  did  not  mind  accepting  his  invi- 
tation to  tea.  The  corn  factor,  himself  indifferently  educated, 
had  an  exaggerated  sense  of  the  value  of  culture,  and  so 
Clara,  who  had  artistic  tastes  without  much  actual  talent, 
had  gone  in  for  painting,  and  might  be  seen,  in  pretty 
toilettes,  copying  pictures  in  the  Museum.  At  one  time  it 
looked  as  if  she  might  be  reduced  to  working  seriously  at 
her  art,  for  Satan,  who  finds  mischief  still  for  idle  hands  to 
do,  had  persuaded  her  father  to  embark  the  fruits  of  years 
of  toil  in  bubble  companies.  However,  things  turned  out 
not  so  bad  as  they  might  have  been,  a  little  was  saved  from 
the  wreck,  and  the  appearance  of  a  suitor,  in  the  person  of 
Everard  G.  Roxdal,  ensured  her  a  future  of  competence, 
if  not  of  the  luxury  she  had  been  entitled  to  expect.  She 


278  CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS. 

had  a  good  deal  of  affection  for  Everard,  who  was  unmis- 
takably a  clever  man,  as  well  as  a  good-looking  one.  The 
prospect  seemed  fair  and  cloudless.  Nothing  presaged  the 
terrible  storm  that  was  about  to  break  over  these  two  lives. 
Nothing  had  ever  for  a  moment  come  to  vex  their  mutual 
contentment,  till  this  Sunday  afternoon.  The  October  sky, 
blue  and  sunny,  with  an  Indian  summer  sultriness,  seemed 
an  exact  image  of  her  life,  with  its  aftermath  of  a  happiness 
that  had  once  seemed  blighted.  , 

Everard  had  always  been  so  attentive,  so  solicitous,  that 
she  was  as  much  surprised  as  chagrined  to  find  that  he 
had  apparently  forgotten  the  appointment.  Hearing  her 
astonished  interrogation  of  Polly  in  the  passage,  Tom 
shambled  from  the  sitting-room  in  his  loose  slippers  and  his 
blue  check  shirt,  with  his  eternal  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
and  informed  her  that  Roxdal  had  gone  out  suddenly  earlier 
in  the  afternoon. 

"  G-g-one  out?"  stammered  poor  Clara,  all  confused. 
"But  he  asked  me  to  come  to  tea." 

"  Oh,  you're  Miss  Newell,  I  suppose,"  said  Tom. 

"Yes,  I  am  Miss  Newell." 

"He  has  told  me  a  great  deal  about  you,  but  I  wasn't 
able  honestly  to  congratulate  him  on  his  choice  till  now." 

Clara  blushed  uneasily  under  the  compliment,  and  under 
the  ardour  of  his  admiring  gaze.  Instinctively  she  distrusted 
the  man.  The  very  first  tones  of  his  deep  bass  voice  gave 
her  a  peculiar  shudder.  And  then  his  impoliteness  in 
smoking  that  vile  clay  was  so  gratuitous. 

"Oh,  then  you  must  be  Mr.  Peters,"  she  said  in  return. 
"  He  has  often  spoken  to  me  of  you." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Tom  laughingly,  "  I  suppose  he's  told  you 
all  my  vices.  That  accounts  for  your  not  being  surprised 
at  my  Sunday  attire." 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS.  279 

She  smiled  a  little,  showing  a  row  of  pearly  teeth. 
Everard  ascribes  to  you  all  the  virtues,"  she  said. 

"  Now  that's  what  I  call  a  friend  !  "  he  cried  ecstatically. 
But  won't  you  come  in  ?  He  must  be  back  in  a  moment. 


"  TOM    SHAMBLED    FROM   THE    SITTING-ROOM. 

He  surely  would  not  break  an  appointment  with  you'1 
The  admiration  latent  in  the  accentuation  of  the  last  pro- 
noun was  almost  offensive. 

She  shook  her  head.  She  had  a  just  grievance  against 
Everard,  and  would  punish  him  by  going  away  indignantly. 

"  Do  let  me  give  you  a  cup  of  tea,"  Tom  pleaded.     "You 


280  CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS. 

must  be  awfully  thirsty  this  sultry  weather.  There  !  I  will 
make  a  bargain  with  you  !  If  you  will  come  in  now,  I 
promise  to  clear  out  the  moment  Everard  returns,  and  not 
spoil  your  tete-a-tete"  But  Clara  was  obstinate  ;  she  did 
not  at  all  relish  this  man's  society,  and  besides,  she  was 
not  going  to  throw  away  her  grievance  against  Everard.  "  I 
know  Everard  will  slang  me  dreadfully  when  he  comes  in  if 
I  let  you  go,"  Tom  urged.  "Tell  me  at  least  where  he  can 
find  you." 

"  I  am  going  to  take  the  'bus  at  Charing  Cross,  and  I'm 
going  straight  home,"  Clara  announced  determinedly.  She 
put  up  her  parasol  in  a  pet,  and  went  up  the  street  into  the 
Strand.  A  cold  shadow  seemed  to  have  fallen  over  all 
things.  But  just  as  she  was  getting  into  the  'bus,  a  hansom 
dashed  down  Trafalgar  Square,  and  a  well-known  voice 
hailed  her.  The  hansom  stopped,  and  Everard  got  out  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you're  a  bit  late,"  he  said.  "  I  was  called 
out  unexpectedly,  and  have  been  trying  to  rush  back  in 
time.  You  wouldn't  have  found  me  if  you  had  been 
punctual.  But  I  thought,"  he  added,  laughing,  "  I  could 
rely  on  you  as  a  woman." 

"  I  was  punctual,"  Clara  said  angrily.  "  I  was  not  getting 
out  of  this  'bus,  as  you  seem  to  imagine,  but  into  it,  and 
was  going  home." 

"  My  darling ! "  he  cried  remorsefully.  "  A  thousand 
apologies."  The  regret  on  his  handsome  face  soothed  her. 
He  took  the  rose  he  was  wearing  in  the  buttonhole  of  his 
fashionably  cut  coat  and  gave  it  to  her. 

"Why  were  you  so  cruel?"  he  murmured,  as  she  nestled 
against  him  in  the  hansom.  "Think  of  my  despair  if  I 
had  come  home  to  hear  you  had  come  and  gone.  Why 
didn't  you  wait  a  moment?" 


CHEATING    THE   GALLOWS. 


281 


A  shudder  traversed  her  frame.  "  Not  with  that  man, 
Peters  ! "  she  murmured. 

"  Not  with  that  man,  Peters ! "  he  echoed  sharply. 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  Peters?  " 


'SHE   NESTLED    AGAINST   HIM. 


"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.     "  I  don't  like  him." 

"Clara,"  he  said,  half  sternly,  half  cajolingly,  "I  thought 

you    were    above    these    feminine    weaknesses ;    you    are 

punctual,  strive   also  to  be   reasonable.     Tom   is   my  best 

friend.     From    boyhood   we    have    been  always   together. 


282  CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS. 

There  is  nothing  Tom  would  not  do  for  me,  or  I  for  Tom. 
You  must  like  him,  Clara;  you  must,  if  only  for  my  sake." 

"I'll  try,"  Clara  promised,  and  then  he  kissed  her  in 
gratitude  and  broad  daylight. 

"You'll  be  very  nice  to  him  at  tea,  won't  you?"  he  said 
anxiously.  "  I  shouldn't  like  you  two  to  be  bad  friends." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  bad  friends,"  Clara  protested ;  "  only 
the  moment  I  saw  him  a  strange  repulsion  and  mistrust 
came  over  me." 

"You  are  quite  wrong  about  him  —  quite  wrong,"  'he 
assured  her  earnestly.  "  When  you  know  him  better,  you'll 
find  him  the  best  of  fellows.  Oh,  I  know,"  he  said  sud- 
denly, "  I  suppose  he  was  very  untidy,  and  you  women  go 
so  much  by  appearances  !  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  Clara  retorted.  "  Tis  you  men  who  go  by 
appearances." 

"Yes,  you  do.  That's  why  you  care  for  me,"  he  said, 
smiling. 

She  assured  him  it  wasn't,  and  she  didn't  care  for  him  so 
much  as  he  plumed  himself,  but  he  smiled  on.  His  smile 
died  away,  however,  when  he  entered  his  rooms  and  found 
Tom  nowhere. 

"  I  daresay  you've  made  him  run  about  hunting  for  me," 
he  grumbled. 

"  Perhaps  he  knew  I'd  come  back,  and  went  away  to 
leave  us  together,"  she  answered.  "He  said  he  would 
when  you  came." 

"  And  yet  you  say  you  don't  like  him  ! " 

She  smiled  reassuringly.  Inwardly,  however,  she  felt 
pleased  at  the  man's  absence. 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS.  283 

CHAPTER  III. 

POLLY   RECEIVES   A   PROPOSAL. 

IF  Clara  Newell  could  have  seen  Tom  Peters  carrying  on 
with  Polly  in  the  passage,  she  might  have  felt  justified  in 
her  prejudice  against  him.  It  must  be  confessed,  though, 
that  Everard  also  carried  on  with  Polly.  Alas  !  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  men  are  much  of  a  muchness  where  women  are 
concerned;  shabby  men  and  smart  men,  bank  managers 
and  journalists,  bachelors  and  semi-detached  bachelors. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  mistake  after  all  to  say  the  chums  had 
nothing  patently  in  common.  Everard,  I  am  afraid,  kissed 
Polly  rather  more  often  than  Clara,  and  although  it  was 
because  he  respected  her  less,  the  reason  would  perhaps 
not  have  been  sufficiently  consoling  to  his  affianced  wife. 
For  Polly  was  pretty,  especially  on  alternate  Sunday  after- 
noons, and  she  liked  to  receive  the  homage  of  real  gentle- 
men, setting  her  white  cap  at  all  indifferently.  Thus,  just 
before  Clara  knocked  on  that  memorable  Sunday  afternoon, 
Polly,  being  confined  to  the  house  by  the  unwritten  code 
regulating  the  lives  of  servants,  was  amusing  herself  by 
flirting  with  Peters. 

"You  are  fond  of  me  a  little  bit,"  the  graceless  Tom 
whispered,  "aren't  you?" 

"  You  know  I  am,  sir,"  Polly  replied. 

"You  don't  care  for  anyone  else  in  the  house?" 

"Oh  no,  sir.  I  wonder  how  it  is,  sir?"  Polly  replied 
ingenuously. 

And  that  very  evening,  when  Clara  was  gone  and  Tom 
still  out,  Polly  turned  without  the  faintest  atom  of  scrupu- 
losity, or  even  jealousy,  to  the  more  fascinating  Roxdal. 


284 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS. 


*'  V 


If  it  would  seem  at  first  sight  that  Everard  had  less  excuse 
for  such  frivolity  than  his  friend,  perhaps  the  seriousness  he 
showed  in  this  interview  may  throw  a  different  light  upon 
the  complex  character  of  the  man. 
"You're  quite  sure  you  don't 
care  for  anyone  but  me?"  he 
asked  earnestly. 

Of  course  not,  sir  !  "  Polly  re- 
plied indignantly. 
"How  could  I?" 
"But  you  care 
for  that  soldier  I 
saw  you  out  with 
last  Sunday?" 

"Oh  no,  sir,  he's 
only  my  young 
man,"  she  said 
apologetically. 

"Would  you 
give  him  up  ?  "  he 
hissed  suddenly. 

Polly's  pretty 
face  took  a  look 
of  terror.  "I 
couldn't,  sir  !  He'd 
kill  me  !  He's  such 
a  jealous  brute, 
you've  no  idea." 

"Yes,  but  sup- 
pose I  took  you 

away  from  here?"  he  whispered  eagerly.  "Somewhere 
where  he  couldn't  find  you  —  South  America,  Africa,  some- 
where thousands  of  miles  across  the  seas." 


'CARRYING  ON   WITH 
POLLY." 


CHEATING   THE    GALLOWS.  285 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  frighten  me  ! "  whispered  Polly,  cowering 
before  his  ardent  eyes,  which  shone  in  the  dimly  lit  passage. 

"  Would  you  come  with  me  ?  "  he  hissed.  She  did  not 
answer;  she  shook  herself  free  and  ran  into  the  kitchen, 
trembling  with  a  vague  fear. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   CRASH. 

ONE  morning,  earlier  than  his  earliest  hour  of  demanding 
his  shaving-water,  Tom  rang  the  bell  violently  and  asked  the 
alarmed  Polly  what  had  become  of  Mr.  Roxdal. 

"  How  should  I  know,  sir?  "  she  gasped.  "  Ain't  he  been 
in,  sir? " 

"Apparently  not,"  Tom  answered  anxiously.  "He  never 
remains  out.  We  have  been  here  three  weeks  now,  and  I 
can't  recall  a  single  night  he  hasn't  been  home  before 
twelve.  I  can't  make  it  out."  All  enquiries  proved  futile. 
Mrs.  Seacon  reminded  him  of  the  thick  fog  that  had  come  on 
suddenly  the  night  before. 

"  What  fog?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Lord  !  didn't  you  notice  it,  sir?" 

"  No,  I  came  in  early,  smoked,  read,  and  went  to  bed 
about  eleven.  I  never  thought  of  looking  out  of  the  window." 

"  It  began  about  ten,"  said  Mrs.  Seacon,  "  and  got  thicker 
and  thicker.  I  couldn't  see  the  lights  of  the  river  from  my 
bedroom.  The  poor  gentleman  has  been  and  gone  and 
walked  into  the  water."  She  began  to  whimper. 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,"  said  Tom,  though  his  expression 
belied  his  words.  "  At  the  worst  I  should  think  he  couldn't 
find  his  way  home,  and  couldn't  get  a  cab,  so  put  up  for  the 


286 


CHEATING   THE    GALLOWS. 


night  at  some  hotel.  I  daresay  it  will  be  all  right."  He 
began  to  whistle  as  if  in  restored  cheerfulness.  At  eight 
o'clock  there  came  a  letter  for  Roxdal,  marked  "imme- 
diate," but  as  he  did 
not  turn  up  for  break- 
fast, Tom  went  round 
personally  to  the  City 
and  Suburban  Bank. 
He  waited  half-an- 
hour  there,  but  the 
manager  did  not  make 
his  appearance.  Then 
he  left  the  letter  with 
the  cashier  and  went 
away  with  anxious 
countenance. 

That  afternoon  it 
was  all  over  London 
that  the  manager  of 
the  City  and  Subur- 
ban had  disappeared, 
and  that  many  thou- 
sand pounds  of  gold 
and  notes  had  disap- 
peared with  him. 

"SCOTLAND   YARD   OPENED   THE   LETTER."  Scotland      Yard 

opened     the     letter 

marked  "  immediate,"  and  noted  that  there  had  been  a 
delay  in  its  delivery,  for  the  address  had  been  obscure,  and 
an  official  alteration  had  been  made.  It  was  written  in  a 
feminine  hand  and  said :  "  On  second  thoughts  I  cannot 
accompany  you.  Do  not  try  to  see  me  again.  Forget  me. 
I  shall  never  forget  you." 


CHEATING   THE    GALLOWS.  287 

There  was  no  signature. 

Clara  Newell,  distracted,  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  this 
letter.  Polly  deposed  that  the  fugitive  had  proposed  flight 
to  her,  and  the  routes  to  Africa  and  South  America  were 
especially  watched.  Some  months  passed  without  result. 
Tom  Peters  went  about  overwhelmed  with  grief  and  aston- 
ishment. The  police  took  possession  of  all  the  missing 
man's  effects.  Gradually  the  hue  and  cry  dwindled,  died. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FAITH   AND   UNFAITH. 

"  AT  last  we  meet !  "  cried  Tom  Peters,  while  his  face  lit 
up  in  joy.  "How  are  you;  dear  Miss  Newell?"  Clara 
greeted  him  coldly.  Her  face  had  an  abiding  pallor  now. 
Her  lover's  flight  and  shame  had  prostrated  her  for  weeks. 
Her  soul  was  the  arena  of  contending  instincts.  Alone  of 
all  the  world  she  still  believed  in  Everard's  innocence,  felt 
that  there  was  something  more  than  met  the  eye,  divined 
some  devilish  mystery  behind  it  all.  And  yet  that  damning 
letter  from  the  anonymous  lady  shook  her  sadly.  Then, 
too,  there  was  the  deposition  of  Polly.  When  she  heard 
Peters's  voice  accosting  her  all  her  old  repugnance  resurged. 
It  flashed  upon  her  that  this  man  —  Roxdal's  boon  com- 
panion—  must  know  far  more  than  he  had  told  to  the 
police.  She  remembered  how  Everard  had  spoken  of  him, 
with  what  affection  and  confidence  !  Was  it  likely  he  was 
utterly  ignorant  of  Everard's  movements?  Mastering  her 
repugnance,  she  held  out  her  hand.  It  might  be  well  to 
keep  in  touch  with  him ;  he  was  possibly  the  clue  to  the 
mystery.  She  noticed  he  was  dressed  a  shade  more  trimly, 


CHEATING   THE    GALLOWS. 


and  was  smoking  a  meerschaum.     He  walked  along  at  her 
side,  making  no  offer  to  put  his  pipe  out. 

"  You  have  not  heard  from  Everard  ?  "  he  asked.  She 
flushed.  "Do  you  think  I'm  an  accessory  after  the  fact?" 
she  cried. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  Pardon  me,  I  was  think- 
ing he  might  have  written  —  giving  no  exact  address,  of 
course.  Men  do  sometimes  dare  to  write  thus  to  women. 
But,  of  course,  he  knows  you  too  well  —  you  would  have 
put  the  police  on  his  track." 

"  Certainly,"  she  exclaimed  indignantly.  "  Even  if  he  is 
innocent  he  must  face  the  charge." 

"  Do  you  still  entertain  the  possibility  of  his  innocence  ?  " 
"  I  do,"  she  said  boldly,  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 
His  eyelids  drooped  with  a  quiver.     "  Don't  you? " 

"  I  have  hoped  against  hope,"  he  replied,  in  a  voice  fal- 
tering with  emotion.  "  Poor  old  Everard !  But  I  am 

afraid  there  is  no  room 
for  doubt.  Oh,  this 
wicked  curse  of  money 
—  tempting  the  noblest 
and  the  best  of  us." 

The  weeks  rolled  on. 
Gradually  she  found 
herself  seeing  more  and 
more  of  Tom  Peters, 
and  gradually,  strange 
to  say,  he  grew  less  re- 
pulsive. From  the  talks 
they  had  together,  she  began  to  see  that  there  was  really  no 
reason  to  put  faith  in  Everard ;  his  criminality,  his  faithless- 
ness, were  too  flagrant.  Gradually  she  grew  ashamed  of  her 
early  mistrust  of  Peters ;  remorse  bred  esteem,  and  esteem 


:SHE   DID   NOT   REPULSE   HIM." 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS. 


289 


ultimately  ripened  into  feelings  so  warm,  that  when  Tom 
gave  freer  vent  to  the  love  that  had  been  visible  to  Clara 
from  the  first,  she  did  not  repulse  him. 

It  is  only  in  books  that  love  lives  for  ever.  Clara,  so  her 
father  thought,  showed  herself  a  sensible  girl  in  plucking 
out  an  unworthy  affection  and  casting  it  from  her  heart. 
He  invited  the  new  lover  to  his  house,  and  took  to  him  at 
once.  Roxdal's  somewhat  supercilious  manner  had  always 


WITH    TOM   THE   OLD    MAN    GOT    ON 
MUCH   BETTER." 


jarred  upon  the  unsophisticated  corn  factor.  With  Tom  the 
old  man  got  on  much  better.  While  evidently  quite  as  well 
informed  and  cultured  as  his  whilom  friend,  Tom  knew  how 
to  impart  his  superior  knowledge  with  the  accent  on  the 
knowledge  rather  than  on  the  superiority,  while  he  had 
the  air  of  gaining  much  information  in  return.  Those  who 
are  most  conscious  of  defects  of  early  education  are  most 
resentful  of  other  people  sharing  their  consciousness.  More- 
over, Tom's  bonhomie  was  far  more  to  the  old  fellow's  liking 
than  the  studied  politeness  of  his  predecessor,  so  that  on  the 
whole  Tom  made  more  of  a  conquest  of  the  father  than  of 
the  daughter.  Nevertheless,  Clara  was  by  no  means  unre- 


290  CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS. 

sponsive  to  Tom's  affection,  and  when,  after  one  of  his 
visits  to  the  house,  the  old  man  kissed  her  fondly  and  spoke 
of  the  happy  turn  things  had  taken,  and  how,  for  the  second 
time  in  their  lives,  things  had  mended  when  they  seemed  at 
their  blackest,  her  heart  swelled  with  a  gush  of  gratitude 
and  joy  and  tenderness,  and  she  fell  sobbing  into  her  father's 
arms. 

Tom  calculated  that  he  made  a  clear  five  hundred  a  year 
by  occasional  journalism,  besides  possessing  some  profitable 
investments  which  he  had  inherited  from  his  mother,  so  that 
there  was  no  reason  for  delaying  the  marriage.  It  was  fixed 
for  May-day,  and  the  honeymoon  was  to  be  spent  in  Italy. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   DREAM   AND   THE   AWAKENING. 

BUT  Clara  was  not  destined  to  happiness.  From  the 
moment  she  had  promised  herself  to  her  first  love's  friend, 
old  memories  began  to  rise  up  and  reproach  her.  Strange 
thoughts  stirred  in  the  depths  of  her  soul,  and  in  the  silent 
watches  of  the  night  she  seemed  to  hear  Everard's  accents, 
charged  with  grief  and  upbraiding.  Her  uneasiness  in- 
creased as  her  wedding-day  drew  near.  One  night,  after 
a  pleasant  afternoon  spent  in  being  rowed  by  Tom  among 
the  upper  reaches  of  the  Thames,  she  retired  to  rest  full 
of  vague  forebodings.  And  she  dreamt  a  terrible  dream. 
The  dripping  form  of  Everard  stood  by  her  bedside,  staring 
at  her  with  ghastly  eyes.  Had  he  been  drowned  on  the 
passage  to  his  land  of  exile?  Frozen  with  horror,  she  put 
the  question. 

"  I  have  never  left  England  !  "  the  vision  answered. 


CHEATING   THE    GALLOWS.  291 

Her  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth. 

"Never  left  England?"  she  repeated,  in  tones  which  did 
not  seem  to  be  hers. 

The  wraith's  stony  eyes  stared  on,  but  there  was  silence. 

"  Where  have  you  been  then?  "  she  asked  in  her  dream. 

"  Very  near  you,"  came  the  answer. 

"  There  has  been  foul  play  then  ! "  she  shrieked. 

The  phantom  shook  its  head  in  doleful  assent. 

"  I  knew  it !  "  she  shrieked.  "  Tom  Peters  —  Tom  Peters 
has  done  away  with  you.  Is  it  not  he  ?  Speak  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  he  —  Tom  Peters  —  whom  I  loved  more  than 
all  the  world." 

Even  in  the  terrible  oppression  of  the  dream  she  could 
not  resist  saying,  woman-like  : 

" Did  I  not  warn  you  against  him? " 

The  phantom  stared  on  silently  and  made  no  reply. 

"  But  what  was  his  motive  ?  "  she  asked  at  length. 

"  Love  of  gold  —  and  you.  And  you  are  giving  yourself 
to  him,"  it  said  sternly. 

"  No,  no,  Everard  !  I  will  not !  I  will  not !  I  swear  it ! 
Forgive  me  ! " 

The  spirit  shook  its  head  sceptically. 

"  You  love  him.     Women  are  false  —  as  false  as  men." 

She  strove  to  protest  again,  but  her  tongue  refused  its 
office. 

"  If  you  marry  him,  I  shall  always  be  with  you  !  Be- 
ware ! " 

The  dripping  figure  vanished  as  suddenly  as  it  came,  and 
Clara  awoke  in  a  cold  perspiration.  Oh,  it  was  horrible  ! 
The  man  she  had  learnt  to  love,  the  murderer  of  the  man 
she  had  learnt  to  forget  !  How  her  original  prejudice  had 
been  justified  !  Distracted,  shaken  to  her  depths,  she  would 
not  take  counsel  even  of  her  father,  but  informed  the  police 


292 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS. 


of  her  suspicions.  A  raid  was  made  on  Tom's  rooms,  and 
lo  !  the  stolen  notes  were  discovered  in  a  huge  bundle. 
It  was  found  that  he  had  several  banking  accounts,  with  a 
large,  recently  deposited  amount  in  each  bank.  Tom  was 
arrested.  Attention  was  now  concentrated  on  the  corpses 
washed  up  by  the  river.  It  was  not  long  before  the  body 
of  Roxdal  came  to  shore,  the  face  distorted  almost  beyond 


"  IDENTIFIED   THE   BODY." 

recognition  by  long  immersion,  but  the  clothes  patently  his, 
and  a  pocket-book  in  the  breast-pocket  removing  the  last 
doubt.  Mrs.  Seacon  and  Polly  and  Clara  Newell  all  identi- 
fied the  body.  Both  juries  returned  a  verdict  of  murder 
against  Tom  Peters,  the  recital  of  Clara's  dream  producing 
a  unique  impression  in  the  court  and  throughout  the  country, 
especially  in  theological  and  theosophical  circles.  The  the- 
ory of  the  prosecution  was  that  Roxdal  had  brought  home 


THE   CORPSE  WASHED   UP  BY  THE   RIVER. 

293 


294  CHEATING   THE    GALLOWS. 

the  money,  whether  to  fly  alone  or  to  divide  it,  or  whether, 
even  for  some  innocent  purpose,  as  Clara  believed,  was 
immaterial ;  that  Peters  determined  to  have  it  all,  that  he 
had  gone  out  for  a  walk  with  the  deceased,  and,  taking 
advantage  of  the  fog,  had  pushed  him  into  the  river,  and 
that  he  was  further,  impelled  to  the  crime  by  love  for  Clara 
Newell,  as  was  evident  from  his  subsequent  relations  with 
her.  The  judge  put  on  the  black  cap.  Tom  Peters  was 
duly  hung  by  the  neck  till  he  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BRIEF   RESUME   OF  THE   CULPRIT'S  CONFESSION. 

WHEN  you  all  read  this  I  shall  be  dead  and  laughing  at 
you.  I  have  been  hung  for  my  own  murder.  I  am  Everard 
G.  Roxdal.  I  am  also  Tom  Peters.  We  two  were  one. 
When  I  was  a  young  man  my  moustache  and  beard  wouldn't 
come.  I  bought  false  ones  to  improve  my  appearance. 
One  day,  after  I  had  become  manager  of  the  City  and 
Suburban  Bank,  I  took  off  my  beard  and  moustache  at 
home,  and  then  the  thought  crossed  my  mind  that  nobody 
would  know  me  without  them.  I  was  another  man.  In- 
stantly it  flashed  upon  me  that  if  I  ran  away  from  the  Bank, 
that  other  man  could  be  left  in  London,  while  the  police 
were  scouring  the  world  for  a  non-existent  fugitive.  But 
this  was  only  the  crude  germ  of  the  idea.  Slowly  I  ma- 
tured my  plan.  The  man  who  was  going  to  be  left  in 
London  must  be  known  to  a  circle  of  acquaintance  before- 
hand. It  would  be  easy  enough  to  masquerade  in  the 
evenings  in  my  beardless  condition,  with  other  disguises  of 
dress  and  voice.  But  this  was  not  brilliant  enough.  I  con- 


CHEATING    THE    GALLOWS.  296 

ceived  the  idea  of  living  with  him.  It  was  Box  and  Cox 
reversed.  We  shared  rooms  at  Mrs.  Seacon's.  It  was  a 
great  strain,  but  it  was  only  for  a  few  weeks.  I  had  trick 
clothes  in  my  bedroom  like  those  of  quick-change  artistes ; 
in  a  moment  I  could  pass  from  Roxdal  to  Peters  and  from 
Peters  to  Roxdal.  Polly  had  to  clean  two  pairs  of  boots  a 
morning,  cook  two  dinners,  &c.,  &c.  She  and  Mrs.  Seacon 
saw  one  or  the  other  of  us  every  moment ;  it  never  dawned 
upon  them  they  never  saw  us  both  together.  At  meals  I 
would  not  be  interrupted,  ate  off  two  plates,  and  conversed 
with  my  friend  in  loud  tones.  A  slight  ventriloquial  gift 
enabled  me  to  hold  audible  conversations  with  him  when  he 
was  supposed  to  be  in  the  bedroom.  At  other  times  we 
dined  at  different  hours.  On  Sundays  he  was  supposed  to 
be  asleep  when  I  was  in  church.  There  is  no  landlady  in 
the  world  to  whom  the  idea  would  have  occurred  that  one 
man  was  troubling  himself  to  be  two  (and  to  pay  for  two, 
including  washing) .  I  worked  up  the  idea  of  Roxdal's  flight, 
asked  Polly  to  go  with  me,  manufactured  that  feminine  letter 
that  arrived  on  the  morning  of  my  disappearance.  As  Tom 
Peters  I  mixed  with  a  journalistic  set.  I  had  another  room 
where  I  kept  the  gold  and  notes  till  I  mistakenly  thought  the 
thing  had  blown  over.  Unfortunately,  returning  from  here 
on  the  night  of  my  disappearance,  with  Roxdal's  clothes  in 
a  bundle  I  intended  to  drop  into  the  river,  it  was  stolen  from 
me  in  the  fog,  and  the  man  into  whose  possession  it  ulti- 
mately came  appears  to  have  committed  suicide,  so  that 
his  body  dressed  in  my  clothes  was  taken  for  mine.  What, 
perhaps,  ruined  me  was  my  desire  to  keep  Clara's  love,  and 
to  transfer  it  to  the  survivor.  Everard  told  her  I  was  the 
best  of  fellows.  Once  married  to  her,  I  would  not  have  had 
much  fear.  Even  if  she  had  discovered  the  trick,  a  wife 
cannot  give  evidence  against  her  husband,  and  often  does 


296 


CHEATING   THE    GALLOWS. 


not  want  to.  I  made  none  of  the  usual  slips,  but  no  man 
can  guard  against  a  girl's  nightmare  after  a  day  up  the  river 
and  a  supper  at  the  Star  and  Garter.  I  might  have  told  the 
judge  he  was  an  ass,  but  then  I  should  have  had  penal  servi- 
tude for  bank  robbery,  and  that  is  worse  than  death.  The 
only  thing  that  puzzles  me,  though,  is  whether  the  law  has 
committed  murder  or  I  suicide.  What  is  certain  is  that  I 
have  cheated  the  gallows. 


Santa    Clans. 

A  STORY  FOR  THE   NURSERY. 

ALTHOUGH  Bob  was  asleep  on  the  doorstep  the  children  in 
the  passage  talked  so  loudly  that  they  woke  him  up.  They 
did  not  mean  to  do  it,  for  they  were  nice,  clean,  handsome 
children.  Bob  was  always  pretty  dirty,  so  nobody  knew  if 
he  was  pretty  clean.  He  was  not  a  dog,  though  you  might 
think  so  from  his  name  and  the  way  he  was  treated.  No- 
body cared  for  Bob  except  Tommy  whom  he  could  fight 
one-hand.  The  lucky  nice  clean  children  had  jam  to  lick, 
but  Bob  had  only  Tommy.  Poor  Tommy  ! 

Bob  sat  up  on  his  stony  doorstep,  drawing  his  rags  around 
him.  His  toes  were  freezing.  When  you  have  no  boots  it 
is  awkward  to  stamp  your  feet.  That  is  why  they  are  so 
cold.  Bob's  idea  of  heaven  was  a  place  with  a  fire  in 
it.  He  lived  before  Free  Education  and  his  ideas  were 
mixed. 

Bob  heard  the  children  inside  talking  about  Santa  Glaus 
and  the  presents  they  expected.  Bob  gathered  that  he  was 
a  kind-hearted  old  gentleman,  and  he  thought  to  himself: 
"  If  I  could  find  out  Santa  Claus's  address,  I'd  go  and  arx 
'im  for  some  presents  too."  So  he  waited  outside,  shiver- 
ing, till  a  pretty  little  girl  and  boy  came  out,  when  he  said 
to  them :  "  Please,  can  you  tell  me  where  Santa  Glaus 
lives?" 

297 


298  SANTA    CLAUS. 

The  little  girl  and  boy  drew  back  when  he  spoke  to  them, 
because  they  had  strict  orders  to  keep  their  pinafores  clean. 
But  when  they  heard  his  strange  question,  they  looked  at 
each  other  with  large  eyes.  Then  their  pretty  faces  filled 
with  smiling  sunshine,  and  they  said  :  "  He  lives  in  the  sky. 
He  is  a  spirit." 

Bob's  face  fell.  "  Oh,  then  I  carn't  call  upon  'im,"  he 
said.  "  But  'ow  is  it  /  never  gets  no  presents  like  I  'ears 
yer  say  you  does  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  a  good  child,"  said  the  little  girl 
gravely. 

"Yes,  look  how  you've  torn  your  clothes,"  said  the  little 
boy  reprovingly. 

"  Well,  but  'ow  is  you  goin'  to  get  presents  from  the  sky  ?  " 

"  We  hang  up  our  stockings  to-night,  just  before  Christ- 
mas, and  in  the  night  Santa  Glaus  fills  them,"  they  explained, 
and  just  then  the  maid  came  out  and  led  them  away. 

Now  Bob  understood.  He  had  never  had  any  stockings 
in  his  life.  He  felt  mad  to  think  how  much  else  he  had 
missed  through  the  want  of  a  pair.  If  he  could  only  get  a 
pair  of  stockings  to  hang  up,  he  might  be  a  rich  boy  and 
dine  off  bread  and  treacle.  He  wandered  through  the  courts 
and  alleys  looking  for  stockings  in  the  gutters  and  dustbins. 
They  were  not  there.  Old  boots  were  to  be  found  in  abun- 
dance though  not  in  couples  (which  was  odd)  ;  but  Bob 
soon  discovered  that  people  never  throw  away  their  stock- 
ings. At  last  he  plucked  up  courage  and  begged  from  house 
to  house,  but  nobody  had  a  pair  to  spare.  What  becomes 
of  all  the  old  stockings  ?  Not  everybody  hoards  treasure  in 
them.  Bob  met  plenty  of  kind  hearts;  they  offered  him 
bread  when  he  asked  for  a  stocking. 

At  last,  weary  and  footsore,  he  returned  to  his  doorstep 
and  pondered.  He  wondered  if  he  could  cheat  Santa  Claus 


SANTA    CLAUS.  299 

by  making  a  pair  out  of  a  piece  of  newspaper  he  had  picked 
up.  But  perhaps  Mr.  Glaus  was  particular  about  the  mate- 
rial and  admitted  nothing  under  cotton.  He  thought  of 
stepping  deeply  into  the  mud  and  caking  a  pair,  but  then 
he  could  only  remove  them  at  night  by  brushing  them  off  in 
little  pieces ;  he  feared  they  would  stick  too  tight  to  come 
off  whole.  He  also  thought  of  painting  his  calves  with 
stripes  from  "wet  paint,"  on  the  off  chance  that  Mr.  Glaus 
would  drop  the  presents  carelessly  down  along  his  legs. 
But  he  concluded  that  if  Mr.  Glaus  lived  in  the  sky  he  could 
look  down  and  see  all  he  was  doing.  So  he  began  to  cry 
instead. 

"What  are  you  crying  about?"  said  a  quavering  voice, 
and  Bob,  startled,  became  aware  of  a  wretched  old  creature 
dining  on  the  doorstep  at  his  side. 

"  I  ain't  got  no  stockings,"  he  sobbed  in  answer. 

"  Well,  I'll  give  you  mine,"  said  his  neighbour. 

Bob  hesitated.  The  poor  old  woman  looked  so  broken- 
down  herself,  it  seemed  mean  to  accept  her  offer. 

"Won't  you  be  cold?"  he  asked  timidly. 

"  I  shan't  be  warmer,"  mumbled  the  old  woman.  "  But 
then  you  will." 

"  No,  I  won't  have  them,  thank  you  kindly,  mum,"  said 
Bob  stoutly. 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do,"  said  the  old  woman,  who 
was  really  a  fairy,  though  she  had  lost  both  wings  —  they 
had  been  amputated  in  a  surgical  operation.  "  It's  easy 
enough  to  get  stockings  if  you  only  know  how.  Run  away 
now  and  pick  out  any  person  you  meet  and  say, '  I  wish  that 
person's  stockings  were  on  my  feet.'  You  can  only  wish 
once,  so  be  careful,  especially,  not  to  wish  for  a  pair  of  blue 
stockings,  as  they  won't  suit  you." 

She   grinned  and  vanished.     Bob  jumped   up  and  was 


AN   OLD   WOMAN   DINING  ON  THE   DOORSTEP. 

300 


SANTA    CLAUS.  301 

about  to  wish  off  the  stockings  of  the  first  man  he  met,  when 
a  horrible  thought  struck  him.  The  man  had  nice  clothes 
and  looked  rich,  but  what  proof  was  there  he  had  stockings 
on  ?  Bob  really  could  not  afford  to  risk  wasting  his  wish. 
He  walked  about  and  looked  at  all  the  people  —  the  men 
with  their  long  trousers,  the  women  with  their  trailing  skirts  ; 
and  the  more  he  walked,  the  more  grew  his  doubt  and  his 
agony.  A  terrible  scepticism  of  humanity  seized  him.  They 
looked  very  prim  and  demure  without,  these  men  and 
women,  with  their  varnished  boots  and  their  satin  gowns, 
but  what  if  they  were  all  hypocrites,  walking  about  without 
stockings  !  Night  came  on.  Half  distracted  by  distrust  of 
his  kind,  he  wandered  on  to  the  docks,  and  there  to  his  joy 
he  saw  people  coming  off  a  steamer  by  a  narrow  plank. 
As  they  walked  the  ladies  lifted  up  their  skirts  so  as  not  to 
tumble  over  them,  and  he  caught  several  glimpses  of  dainty 
stockings.  At  last  he  selected  a  lady  with  very  broad  stock- 
ings, that  looked  as  if  they  would  hold  lots  of  Mr.  Claus's 
presents,  and  wished.  Instantly  he  felt  very  funny  about 
the  feet,  and  the  lady  wobbled  about  so  in  her  big  boots 
that  she  overbalanced  herself  and  fell  into  the  water  and 
was  drowned. 

Bob  ran  back  to  his  doorstep,  and  when  it  was  dark 
slipped  off  his  stockings  carefully  and  hung  them  up  on  the 
knocker.  And  —  sure  enough  !  —  in  the  morning  they  were 
full  of  fine  cigars  and  Spanish  lace.  Bob  sold  the  lace  for 
a  penny,  but  he  kept  the  cigars  and  smoked  the  first  with 
his  penn'uth  of  Christmas  plum-duff. 

Moral: —  England  expects  every  man  to  pay  his  duty. 


A  Rose  of  the  Ghetto. 


ONE  day  it  occurred  to  Leibel  that  he  ought  to  get  married. 
He  went  to  Sugarman  the  Shadchan  forthwith. 

"  I  have  the  very  thing  for  you,"  said  the  great  marriage- 
broker. 

"  Is  she  pretty  ?  "  asked  Leibel. 

"  Her  father  has  a  boot  and  shoe  warehouse,"  replied 
Sugarman  enthusiastically. 

"Then  there  ought  to  be  a  dowry  with  her,"  said  Leibel 
eagerly. 

"  Certainly  a  dowry  !     A  fine  man  like  you  !  " 

"  How  much  do  you  think  it  would  be  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is  not  a  large  warehouse ;  but  then  you 
could  get  your  boots  at  trade  price,  and  your  wife's,  perhaps, 
for  the  cost  of  the  leather." 

"When  could  I  see  her?" 

"  I  will  arrange  for  you  to  call  next  Sabbath  afternoon." 

"  You  won't  charge  me  more  than  a  sovereign? " 

"  Not  a  groschen  more  !  Such  a  pious  maiden  !  I'm 
sure  you  will  be  happy.  She  has  so  much  way-of-the- 
country  [breeding].  And,  of  course,  five  per  cent  on  the 
dowry?" 

"  H'm  !  Well,  I  don't  mind  !  "  "  Perhaps  they  won't 
give  a  dowry,"  he  thought,  with  a  consolatory  sense  of  out- 
witting the  Shadchan. 

On  the  Saturday  Leibel  went  to  see  the  damsel,  and  on 
the  Sunday  he  went  to  see  Sugarman  the  Shadchan. 
302 


A  ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO.  303 

"  But  your  maiden  squints  !  "  he  cried  resentfully. 

"  An  excellent  thing  !  "  said  Sugarman.  "  A  wife  who 
squints  can  never  look  her  husband  straight  in  the  face  and 
overwhelm  him.  Who  would  quail  before  a  woman  with 
asquint?" 

"  I  could  endure  the  squint,"  went  on  Leibel  dubiously, 
"  but  she  also  stammers." 

"  Well,  what  is  better,  in  the  event  of  a  quarrel  ?  The 
difficulty  she  has  in  talking  will  keep  her  far  more  silent 
than  most  wives.  You  had  best  secure  her  while  you  have 
the  chance." 

"  But  she  halts  on  the  left  leg,"  cried  Leibel,  exasperated. 

"  Gott  in  Himmel!  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  do  not  see 
what  an  advantage  it  is  to  have  a  wife  unable  to  accompany 
you  in  all  your  goings?  " 

Leibel  lost  patience. 

"  Why,  the  girl  is  a  hunchback  !  "  he  protested  furiously. 

"  My  dear  Leibel,"  said  the  marriage-broker,  deprecat- 
ingly  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  spreading  out  his  palms. 
"  You  can't  expect  perfection  !  " 

Nevertheless,  Leibel  persisted  in  his  unreasonable  attitude. 
He  accused  Sugarman  of  wasting  his  time,  of  making  a  fool 
of  him. 

"  A  fool  of  you  !  "  echoed  the  Shadchan  indignantly, 
"  when  I  give  you  a  chance  of  a  boot  and  shoe  manu- 
facturer's daughter.  You  will  make  a  fool  of  yourself  if 
you  refuse.  I  daresay  her  dowry  would  be  enough  to  set 
you  up  as  a  master-tailor.  At  present  you  are  compelled 
to  slave  away  as  a  cutter  for  thirty  shillings  a  week.  It  is 
most  unjust.  If  you  only  had  a  few  machines  you  would 
be  able  to  employ  your  own  cutters.  And  they  can  be  got 
so  cheap  nowadays." 

This  gave  Leibel  pause,  and  he  departed  without  having 


304  A   ROSE    OF   THE    G/fETTO. 

definitely  broken  the  negotiations.  His  whole  week  was 
befogged  by  doubt,  his  work  became  uncertain,  his  chalk- 
marks  lacked  their  usual  decision,  and  he  did  not  always 
cut  his  coat  according  to  his  cloth.  His  aberrations  became 
so  marked  that  pretty  Rose  Green,  the  sweater's  eldest 
daughter,  who  managed  a  machine  in  the  same  room, 
divined,  with  all  a  woman's  intuition,  that  he  was  in  love. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  said  in  rallying  Yiddish,  when 
they  were  taking  their  lunch  of  bread  and  cheese  and 
ginger-beer,  amid  the  clatter  of  machines,  whose  serfs  had 
not  yet  knocked  off  work. 

"They  are  proposing  me  a  match,"  he  answered  sullenly. 

"  A  match  !  "  ejaculated  Rose.  "  Thou  !  "  She  had 
worked  by  his  side  for  years,  and  familiarity  bred  the 
second  person  singular.  Leibel  nodded  his  head,  and  put 
a  mouthful  of  Dutch  cheese  into  it. 

"  With  whom?  "  asked  Rose.  Somehow  he  felt  ashamed. 
He  gurgled  the  answer  into  the  stone  ginger-beer  bottle, 
which  he  put  to  his  thirsty  lips. 

"  With  Leah  Volcovitch  !  " 

"  Leah  Volcovitch  ! "  gasped  Rose.  "  Leah,  the  boot 
and  shoe  manufacturer's  daughter?  " 

Leibel  hung  his  head  —  he  scarce  knew  why.  He  did 
not  dare  meet  her  gaze.  His  droop  said  "Yes."  There 
was  a  long  pause. 

"And  why  dost  thou  not  have  her?  "  said  Rose.  It  was 
more  than  an  enquiry.  There  was  contempt  in  it,  and 
perhaps  even  pique. 

Leibel  did  not  reply.  The  embarrassing  silence  reigned 
again,  and  reigned  long.  Rose  broke  it  at  last. 

"  Is  it  that  thou  likest  me  better?  "  she  asked. 

Leibel  seemed  to  see  a  ball  of  lightning  in  the  air;  it 
burst,  and  he  felt  the  electric  current  strike  right  through 


A   XOSE   OF  THE    GHETTO.  305 

his  heart.  The  shock  threw  his  head  up  with  a  jerk,  so  that 
his  eyes  gazed  into  a  face  whose  beauty  and  tenderness 
were  revealed  to  him  for  the  first  time.  The  face  of  his  old 
acquaintance  had  vanished  —  this  was  a  cajoling,  coquettish, 
smiling  face,  suggesting  undreamed-of  things. 

"  Nu,  yes,"  he  replied,  without  perceptible  pause. 

"  Nu,  good  !  "  she  rejoined  as  quickly. 

And  in  the  ecstasy  of  that  moment  of  mutual  under- 
standing Leibel  forgot  to  wonder  why  he  had  never  thought 
of  Rose  before.  Afterwards  he  remembered  that  she  had 
always  been  his  social  superior. 

The  situation  seemed  too  dreamlike  for  explanation  to 
the  room  just  yet.  Leibel  lovingly  passed  the  bottle  of 
ginger- beer  and  Rose  took  a  sip,  with  a  beautiful  air  of 
plighting  troth,  understood  only  of  those  two.  When 
Leibel  quaffed  the  remnant  it  intoxicated  him.  The  relics 
of  the  bread  and  cheese  were  the  ambrosia  to  this  nectar. 
They  did  not  dare  kiss  —  the  suddenness  of  it  all  left  them 
bashful,  and  the  smack  of  lips  would  have  been  like  a 
cannon-peal  announcing  their  engagement.  There  was  a 
subtler  sweetness  in  this  sense  of  a  secret,  apart  from  the 
fact  that  neither  cared  to  break  the  news  to  the  master- 
tailor  —  a  stern  little  old  man.  Leibel's  chalk-marks  con- 
tinued indecisive  that  afternoon ;  which  shows  how  correctly 
Rose  had  connected  them  with  love. 

Before  he  left  that  night  Rose  said  to  him  :  "  Art  thou 
sure  thou  wouldst  not  rather  have  Leah  Volcovitch?" 

"Not  for  all  the  boots  and  shoes  in  the  world,"  replied 
Leibel  vehemently. 

"  And  I,"  protested  Rose,  "  would  rather  go  without  my 
own  than  without  thee." 

The  landing  outside  the  workshop  was  so  badly  lighted 
that  their  lips  came  together  in  the  darkness. 


306  A   ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO. 

"  Nay,  nay,  thou  must  not  yet,"  said  Rose.  "  Thou  art 
still  courting  Leah  Volcovitch.  For  aught  thou  knowest, 
Sugarman  the  Shadchan  may  have  entangled  thee  beyond 
redemption." 

"  Not  so,"  asserted  Leibel.  "  I  have  only  seen  the  maiden 
once." 

"Yes.  But  Sugarman  has  seen  her  father  several  times," 
persisted  Rose.  "  For  so  misshapen  a  maiden  his  com- 
mission would  be  large.  Thou  must  go  to  Sugarman  to- 
night, and  tell  him  that  thou  canst  not  find  it  in  thy  heart 
to  go  on  with  the  match." 

"  Kiss  me,  and  I  will  go,"  pleaded  Leibel. 

"  Go,  and  I  will  kiss  thee,"  said  Rose  resolutely. 

"And  when  shall  we  tell  thy  father?  "  he  asked,  pressing 
her  hand,  as  the  next  best  thing  to  her  lips. 

"  As  soon  as  thou  art  free  from  Leah." 

"  But  will  he  consent? " 

"  He  will  not  be  glad,"  said  Rose  frankly.  "  But  after 
mother's  death  —  peace  be  upon  her  —  the  rule  passed 
from  her  hands  into  mine." 

"  Ah,  that  is  well,"  said  Leibel.  He  was  a  superficial  thinker. 

Leibel  found  Sugarman  at  supper.  The  great  Shadchan 
offered  him  a  chair,  but  nothing  else.  Hospitality  was 
associated  in  his  mind  with  special  occasions  only,  and 
involved  lemonade  and  "  stuffed  monkeys." 

He  was  very  put  out  —  almost  to  the  point  of  indigestion 
—  to  hear  of  LeibePs  final  determination,  and  plied  him 
with  reproachful  enquiries. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  give  up  a  boot  and 
shoe  manufacturer  merely  because  his  daughter  has  round 
shoulders  !  "  he  exclaimed  incredulously. 

"  It  is  more  than  round  shoulders  —  it  is  a  hump  ! r>  cried 
Leibel. 


A   ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO.  307 

"  And  suppose  ?  See  how  much  better  off  you  will  be 
when  you  get  your  own  machines  !  We  do  not  refuse  to 
let  camels  carry  our  burdens  because  they  have  humps." 

"  Ah,  but  a  wife  is  not  a  camel,"  said  Leibel,  with  a  sage 
air. 

"  And  a  cutter  is  not  a  master-tailor,"  retorted  Sugarman. 

"  Enough,  enough  !  "  cried  Leibel.  "  I  tell  you  I  would 
not  have  her  if  she  were  a  machine  warehouse." 

"There  sticks  something  behind,"  persisted  Sugarman, 
unconvinced. 

Leibel  shook  his  head.  "  Only  her  hump,"  he  said,  with 
a  flash  of  humour. 

"  Moses  Mendelssohn  had  a  hump,"  expostulated  Sugar- 
man reproachfully. 

"Yes,  but  he  was  a  heretic,"  rejoined  Leibel,  who  was 
not  without  reading.  "  And  then  he  was  a  man  !  A  man 
with  two  humps  could  find  a  wife  for  each.  But  a  woman 
with  a  hump  cannot  expect  a  husband  in  addition." 

"  Guard  your  tongue  from  evil,"  quoth  the  Shadchan 
angrily.  "  If  everybody  were  to  talk  like  you,  Leah  Vol- 
covitch  would  never  be  married  at  all." 

Leibel  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  reminded  him  that 
hunchbacked  girls  who  stammered  and  squinted  and  halted 
on  left  legs  were  not  usually  led  under  the  canopy. 

"  Nonsense  !  Stuff ! "  cried  Sugarman  angrily.  "  That 
is  because  they  do  not  come  to  me." 

"  Leah  Volcovitch  has  come  to  you,"  said  Leibel,  "  but 
she  shall  not  come  to  me."  And  he  rose,  anxious  to  escape. 

Instantly  Sugarman  gave  a  sigh  of  resignation.  "  Be  it 
so  !  Then  I  shall  have  to  look  out  for  another,  that's  all." 

"  No,  I  don't  want  any,"  replied  Leibel  quickly. 

Sugarman  stopped  eating.  "You  don't  want  any?"  he 
cried.  "  But  you  came  to  me  for  one  ?" 


308  A   ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO. 

"I  —  I  —  know,"  stammered  Leibel.  "But  I've  —  I've 
altered  my  mind." 

"  One  needs  HillePs  patience  to  deal  with  you  ! "  cried 
Sugarman.  "  But  I  shall  charge  you  all  the  same  for  my 
trouble.  You  cannot  cancel  an  order  like  this  in  the 
middle  !  No,  no  !  You  can  play  fast  and  loose  with  Leah 
Volcovitch.  But  you  shall  not  make  a  fool  of  me." 

"  But  if  I  don't  want  one?  "  said  Leibel  sullenly. 

Sugarman  gazed  at  him  with  a  cunning  look  of  suspicion. 
"  Didn't  I  say  there  was  something  sticking  behind?  " 

Leibel  felt  guilty.  "But  whom  have  you  got  in  your 
eye?"  he  enquired  desperately. 

"  Perhaps  you  may  have  some  one  in  yours  ! "  naively 
answered  Sugarman. 

Leibel  gave  a  hypocritic  long-drawn,  "U-m-m-m.  I 
wonder  if  Rose  Green  —  where  I  work — "  he  said,  and 
stopped. 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  Sugarman.  "  She  is  on  my  list.  Her 
father  gave  her  to  me  some  months  ago,  but  he  is  hard  to 
please.  Even  the  maiden  herself  is  not  easy,  being  pretty." 

"  Perhaps  she  has  waited  for  some  one,"  suggested  Leibel. 

Sugarman's  keen  ear  caught  the  note  of  complacent 
triumph. 

"You  have  been  asking  her  yourself!"  he  exclaimed  in 
horror-stricken  accents. 

"And  if  I  have?"  said  Leibel  defiantly. 

"  You  have  cheated  me  !  And  so  has  Eliphaz  Green  — 
I  always  knew  he  was  tricky  !  You  have  both  defrauded 
me  ! " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to,"  said  Leibel  mildly. 

"You  did  mean  to.  You  had  no  business  to  take  the 
matter  out  of  my  hands.  What  right  had  you  to  propose 
to  Rose  Green?" 


A   ROSE    OF   THE    GHETTO.  309 

"  I  did  not,"  cried  Leibel  excitedly. 

"  Then  you  asked  her  father  !  " 

"  No ;  I  have  not  asked  her  father  yet." 

"  Then  how  do  you  know  she  will  have  you  ?  " 

"I  —  I  know,"  stammered  Leibel,  feeling  himself  some- 
how a  liar  as  well  as  a  thief.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl ;  he 
could  not  remember  how  the  thing  had  come  about. 
Certainly  he  had  not  proposed ;  nor  could  he  say  that  she 
had. 

"You  know  she  will  have  you,"  repeated  Sugarman, 
reflectively.  "  And  does  she  know  ?  " 

"Yes.  In  fact,"  he  blurted  out,  "we  arranged  it 
together." 

"  Ah  !     You  both  know.     And  does  her  father  know  ?  " 

"Not  yet." 

"Ah!  then  I  must  get  his  consent,"  said  Sugarman 
decisively. 

"I  —  I  thought  of  speaking  to  him  myself." 

"Yourself!"  echoed  Sugarman,  in  horror.  "Are  you 
unsound  in  the  head  ?  Why,  that  would  be  worse  than  the 
mistake  you  have  already  made  !  " 

"What  mistake?"  asked  Leibel,  firing  up. 

"The  mistake  of  asking  the  maiden  herself.  When  you 
quarrel  with  her  after  your  marriage,  she  will  always  throw 
it  in  your  teeth  that  you  wished  to  marry  her.  Moreover, 
if  you  tell  a  maiden  you  love  her,  her  father  will  think  you 
ought  to  marry  her  as  she  stands.  Still,  what  is  done  is 
done."  And  he  sighed  regretfully. 

"And  what  more  do  I  want?     I  love  her." 

"You  piece  of  clay!"  cried  Sugarman  contemptuously. 
"  Love  will  not  turn  machines,  much  less  buy  them.  You 
must  have  a  dowry.  Her  father  has  a  big  stocking  —  he 
can  well  afford  it." 


310  A  ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO. 

Leibel's  eyes  lit  up.  There  was  really  no  reason  why 
he  should  not  have  bread-and-cheese  with  his  kisses. 

"  Now,  if  you  went  to  her  father,"  pursued  the  Shadchan, 
"  the  odds  are  that  he  would  not  even  give  you  his  daughter 
—  to  say  nothing  of  the  dowry.  After  all,  it  is  a  cheek  of 
you  to  aspire  so  high.  As  you  told  me  from  the  first,  you 
haven't  saved  a  penny.  Even  my  commission  you  won't  be 
able  to  pay  till  you  get  the  dowry.  But  if  /  go,  I  do  not 
despair  of  getting  a  substantial  sum  —  to  say  nothing  of  the 
daughter." 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  had  better  go,"  said  Leibel  eagerly. 

"  But  if  I  do  this  thing  for  you  I  shall  want  a  pound 
more,"  rejoined  Sugarman. 

"A  pound  more  !  "  echoed  Leibel,  in  dismay.     "Why?" 

"  Because  Rose  Green's  hump  is  of  gold,"  replied  Sugar- 
man oracularly.  "  Also,  she  is  fair  to  see,  and  many  men 
desire  her." 

"  But  you  have  always  your  five  per  cent  on  the  dowry." 

"  It  will  be  less  than  Volcovitch's,"  explained  Sugarman. 
"  You  see,  Green  has  other  and  less  beautiful  daughters." 

"  Yes ;  but  then  it  settles  itself  more  easily.  Say  five 
shillings." 

"  Eliphaz  Green  is  a  hard  man,"  said  the  Shadchan 
instead. 

"  Ten  shillings  is  the  most  I  will  give  ! " 

"  Twelve  and  sixpence  is  the  least  I  will  take.  Eliphaz 
Green  haggles  so  terribly." 

They  split  the  difference,  and  so  eleven  and  threepence 
represented  the  predominance  of  Eliphaz  Green's  stinginess 
over  Volcovitch's. 

The  very  next  day  Sugarman  invaded  the  Green  work- 
room. Rose  bent  over  her  seams,  her  heart  fluttering. 
Leibel  had  duly  apprised  her  of  the  roundabout  manner  in 


A  ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO.  311 

which  she  would  have  to  be  won,  and  she  had  acquiesced 
in  the  comedy.  At  the  least  it  would  save  her  the  trouble 
of  father-taming. 

Sugarman's  entry  was  brusque  and  breathless.  He  was 
overwhelmed  with  joyous  emotion.  His  blue  bandanna 
trailed  agitatedly  from  his  coat-tail. 

"At  last!"  he  cried,  addressing  the  little  white-haired 
master-tailor,  "  I  have  the  very  man  for  you." 

"Yes?"  grunted  Eliphaz,  unimpressed.  The  monosyl- 
lable was  packed  with  emotion.  It  said :  "  Have  you 
really  the  face  to  come  to  me  again  with  an  ideal  man  ?  " 

"  He  has  all  the  qualities  that  you  desire,"  began  the 
Shadchan,  in  a  tone  that  repudiated  the  implications  of  the 
monosyllable.  "  He  is  young,  strong,  God-fearing  —  " 

"  Has  he  any  money?"  grumpily  interrupted  Eliphaz. 

"  He  will  have  money,"  replied  Sugarman  unhesitatingly, 
"  when  he  marries." 

"Ah  ! "  The  father's  voice  relaxed,  and  his  foot  lay 
limp  on  the  treadle.  He  worked  one  of  his  machines 
himself,  and  paid  himself  the  wages  so  as  to  enjoy  the 
profit.  "  How  much  will  he  have  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  will  have  fifty  pounds ;  and  the  least  you 
can  do  is  to  let  him  have  fifty  pounds,"  replied  Sugarman, 
with  the  same  happy  ambiguity. 

Eliphaz  shook  his  head  on  principle. 

"Yes,  you  will,"  said  Sugarman,  "when  you  learn  how 
fine  a  man  he  is." 

The  flush  of  confusion  and  trepidation  already  on  LeibeFs 
countenance  became  a  rosy  glow  of  modesty,  for  he  could 
not  help  overhearing  what  was  being  said,  owing  to  the  lull 
of  the  master-tailor's  machine. 

"  Tell  me,  then,"  rejoined  Eliphaz. 

"  Tell  me,  first,  if  you  will  give  fifty  to  a  young,  healthy, 


312  A   ROSE    OF   THE    GHETTO. 

hard-working,  God-fearing  man,  whose  idea  it  is  to  start 
as  a  master- tailor  on  his  own  account?  And  you  know  how 
profitable  that  is  ! " 

"  To  a  man  like  that,"  said  Eliphaz,  in  a  burst  of  enthu- 
siasm, "  I  would  give  as  much  as  twenty-seven  pounds  ten  !  " 

Sugarman  groaned  inwardly,  but  Leibel's  heart  leaped 
with  joy.  To  get  four  months'  wages  at  a  stroke  !  With 
twenty-seven  pounds  ten  he  could  certainly  procure  several 
machines,  especially  on  the  instalment  system.  Out  of  the 
corners  of  his  eyes  he  shot  a  glance  at  Rose,  who  was 
beyond  earshot. 

"Unless  you  can  promise  thirty  it  is  waste  of  time 
mentioning  his  name,"  said  Sugarman. 

"Well,  well  — who  is  he?" 

Sugarman  bent  down,  lowering  his  voice  into  the  father's 
ear. 

"What !     Leibel !  "  cried  Eliphaz,  outraged. 

"  Sh  ! "  said  Sugarman,  "  or  he  will  overhear  your  delight, 
and  ask  more.  He  has  his  nose  high  enough  as  it  is." 

"  B — b — b — ut,"  sputtered  the  bewildered  parent,  "  I 
know  Leibel  myself.  I  see  him  every  day.  I  don't  want 
a  Shadchan  to  find  me  a  man  I  know — a  mere  hand  in 
my  own  workshop  !  " 

"Your  talk  has  neither  face  nor  figure,"  answered  Sugar- 
man sternly.  "  It  is  just  the  people  one  sees  every  day 
that  one  knows  least.  I  warrant  that  if  I  had  not  put  it 
into  your  head  you  would  never  have  dreamt  of  Leibel  as 
a  son-in-law.  Come  now,  confess." 

Eliphaz  grunted  vaguely,  and  the  Shadchan  went  on 
triumphantly.  "  I  thought  as  much.  And  yet  where  could 
you  find  a  better  man  to  keep  your  daughter?" 

"  He  ought  to  be  content  with  her  alone,"  grumbled  her 
father. 


A   ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO.  313 

Sugarman  saw  the  signs  of  weakening,  and  dashed  in, 
full  strength.  "  It's  a  question  whether  he  will  have  her  at 
all.  I  have  not  been  to  him  about  her  yet.  I  awaited 
your  approval  of  the  idea."  Leibel  admired  the  verbal 
accuracy  of  these  statements,  which  he  just  caught. 

"  But  I  didn't  know  he  would  be  having  money,"  mur- 
mured Eliphaz. 

"  Of  course  you  didn't  know.  That's  what  the  Shadchan 
is  for  —  to  point  out  the  things  that  are  under  your  nose." 

"  But  where  will  he  be  getting  this  money  from?  " 

"  From  you,"  said  Sugarman  frankly. 

"From  me?" 

"  From  whom  else  ?  Are  you  not  his  employer  ?  It  has 
been  put  by  for  his  marriage-day." 

"  He  has  saved  it?" 

"  He  has  not  spent  it,"  said  Sugarman,  impatiently. 

"  But  do  you  mean  to  say  he  has  saved  fifty  pounds?" 

"  If  he  could  manage  to  save  fifty  pounds  out  of  your 
wages  he  would  be  indeed  a  treasure,"  said  Sugarman. 
"  Perhaps  it  might  be  thirty." 

"  But  you  said  fifty." 

"  Well,  you  came  down  to  thirty,"  retorted  the  Shadchan. 
"  You  cannot  expect  him  to  have  more  than  your  daughter 
brings." 

"  I  never  said  thirty,"  Eliphaz  reminded  him.  "  Twenty- 
seven  ten  was  my  last  bid." 

"  Very  well ;  that  will  do  as  a  basis  of  negotiations," 
said  Sugarman  resignedly.  "  I  will  call  upon  him  this 
evening.  If  I  were  to  go  over  and  speak  to  him  now  he 
would  perceive  you  were  anxious  and  raise  his  terms,  and 
that  will  never  do.  Of  course,  you  will  not  mind  allowing 
me  a  pound  more  for  finding  you  so  economical  a  son-in- 
law?" 


314  A   ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO. 

"Not  a  penny  more." 

"  You  need  not  fear,"  said  Sugarman  resentfully.  "  It  is 
not  likely  I  shall  be  able  to  persuade  him  to  take  so  eco- 
nomical a  father-in-law.  So  you  will  be  none  the  worse  for 
promising." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Eliphaz,  with  a  gesture  of  weariness,  and 
he  started  his  machine  again. 

"Twenty-seven  pounds  ten,  remember,"  said  Sugarman, 
above  the  whirr. 

Eliphaz  nodded  his  head,  whirring  his  wheelwork  louder. 

"And  paid  before  the  wedding,  mind?  " 

The  machine  took  no  notice. 

"Before  the  wedding,  mind,"  repeated  Sugarman.  "Be- 
fore we  go  under  the  canopy." 

"  Go  now,  go  now  !  "  grunted  Eliphaz,  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience.  "  It  shall  be  all  well."  And  the  white-haired 
head  bowed  immovably  over  its  work. 

In  the  evening  Rose  extracted  from  her  father  the  motive 
of  Sugarman's  visit,  and  confessed  that  the  idea  was  to  her 
liking. 

"But  dost  thou  think  he  will  have  me,  little  father?" 
she  asked,  with  cajoling  eyes. 

"  Anyone  would  have  my  Rose." 

"  Ah,  but  Leibel  is  different.  So  many  years  he  has  sat 
at  my  side  and  said  nothing." 

"He  had  his  work  to  think  of;  he  is  a  good,  saving 
youth." 

"At  this  very  moment  Sugarman  is  trying  to  persuade 
him  —  not  so?  I  suppose  he  will  want  much  money." 

"Be  easy,  my  child."  And  he  passed  his  discoloured 
hand  over  her  hair. 

Sugarman  turned  up  the  next  day,  and  reported  that 
Leibel  was  unobtainable  under  thirty  pounds,  and  Eliphaz, 


A  ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO.  315 

weary  of  the  contest,  called  over  Leibel,  till  that  moment 
carefully  absorbed  in  his  scientific  chalk-marks,  and  men- 
tioned the  thing  to  him  for  the  first  time.  "  I  am  not  a 
man  to  bargain,"  Eliphaz  said,  and  so  he  gave  the  young 
man  his  tawny  hand,  and  a  bottle  of  rum  sprang  from  some- 
where, and  work  was  suspended  for  five  minutes,  and  the 
"  hands  "  all  drank  amid  surprised  excitement.  Sugarman's 
visits  had  prepared  them  to  congratulate  Rose.  But  Leibel 
was  a  shock. 

The  formal  engagement  was  marked  by  even  greater 
junketing,  and  at  last  the  marriage-day  came.  Leibel  was 
resplendent  in  a  diagonal  frock-coat,  cut  by  his  own  hand, 
and  Rose  stepped  from  the  cab  a  medley  of  flowers,  fairness, 
and  white  silk,  and  behind  her  came  two  bridesmaids  — 
her  sisters  —  a  trio  that  glorified  the  spectator-strewn  pave- 
ment outside  the  Synagogue.  Eliphaz  looked  almost  tall  in 
his  shiny  high  hat  and  frilled  shirt-front.  Sugarman  arrived 
on  foot,  carrying  red- socked  little  Ebenezer  tucked  under 
his  arm. 

Leibel  and  Rose  were  not  the  only  couple  to  be  disposed 
of,  for  it  was  the  thirty-third  day  of  the  Omer  —  a  day  fruit- 
ful in  marriages. 

But  at  last  their  turn  came.  They  did  not,  however, 
come  in  their  turn,  and  their  special  friends  among  the 
audience  wondered  why  they  had  lost  their  precedence. 
After  several  later  marriages  had  taken  place,  a  whisper  be- 
gan to  circulate.  The  rumour  of  a  hitch  gained  ground 
steadily,  and  the  sensation  was  proportionate.  And,  indeed, 
the  rose  was  not  to  be  picked  without  a  touch  of  the  thorn. 

Gradually  the  facts  leaked  out,  and  a  buzz  of  talk  and 
comment  ran  through  the  waiting  Synagogue.  Eliphaz  had 
not  paid  up  ! 

At  first  he  declared  he  would  put  down  the  money  im- 


316  A   ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO. 

mediately  after  the  ceremony.  But  the  wary  Sugarman, 
schooled  by  experience,  demanded  its  instant  delivery  on 
behalf  of  his  other  client.  Hard-pressed,  Eliphaz  produced 
ten  sovereigns  from  his  trousers'  pocket,  and  tendered  them 
on  account.  These  Sugarman  disdainfully  refused,  and  the 
negotiations  were  suspended.  The  bridegroom's  party  was 
encamped  in  one  room,  the  bride's  in  another,  and  after  a 
painful  delay  Eliphaz  sent  an  emissary  to  say  that  half  the 
amount  should  be  forthcoming,  the  extra  five  pounds  in  a 
bright  new  Bank  of  England  note.  Leibel,  instructed  and 
encouraged  by  Sugarman,  stood  firm. 

And  then  arose  a  hubbub  of  voices,  a  chaos  of  sugges- 
tions ;  friends  rushed  to  and  fro  between  the  camps,  some 
emerging  from  their  seats  in  the  Synagogue  to  add  to  the 
confusion.  But  Eliphaz  had  taken  his  stand  upon  a  rock  — 
he  had  no  more  ready  money.  To-morrow,  the  next  day, 
he  would  have  some.  And  Leibel,  pale  and  dogged,  clutched 
tighter  at  those  machines  that  were  slipping  away  momently 
from  him.  He  had  not  yet  seen  his  bride  that  morning, 
and  so  her  face  was  shadowy  compared  with  the  tangibility 
of  those  machines.  Most  of  the  other  maidens  were  mar- 
ried women  by  now,  and  the  situation  was  growing  des- 
perate. From  the  female  camp  came  terrible  rumours  of 
bridesmaids  in  hysterics,  and  a  bride  that  tore  her  wreath 
in  a  passion  of  shame  and  humiliation.  Eliphaz  sent  word 
that  he  would  give  an  I  O  U  for  the  balance,  but  that  he 
really  could  not  muster  any  more  current  coin.  Sugarman 
instructed  the  ambassador  to  suggest  that  Eliphaz  should 
raise  the  money  among  his  friends. 

And  the  short  spring  day  slipped  away.  In  vain  the 
minister,  apprised  of  the  block,  lengthened  out  the  formulae 
for  the  other  pairs,  and  blessed  them  with  more  reposeful 
unction.  It  was  impossible  to  stave  off  the  Leibel-Green 


A   ROSE    OF  THE    GHETTO.  817 

item  indefinitely,  and  at  last  Rose  remained  the  only  orange- 
wreathed  spinster  in  the  Synagogue.  And  then  there  was  a 
hush  of  solemn  suspense,  that  swelled  gradually  into  a 
steady  rumble  of  babbling  tongues  as  minute  succeeded 
minute  and  the  final  bridal  party  still  failed  to  appear. 
The  latest  bulletin  pictured  the  bride  in  a  dead  faint.  The 
afternoon  was  waning  fast.  The  minister  left  his  post  near 
the  canopy,  under  which  so  many  lives  had  been  united, 
and  came  to  add  his  white  tie  to  the  forces  for  compromise. 
But  he  fared  no  better  than  the  others.  Incensed  at  the 
obstinacy  of  the  antagonists,  he  declared  he  would  close  the 
Synagogue.  He  gave  the  couple  ten  minutes  to  marry  in 
or  quit.  Then  chaos  came,  and  pandemonium  —  a  frantic 
babel  of  suggestion  and  exhortation  from  the  crowd.  When 
five  minutes  had  passed,  a  legate  from  Eliphaz  announced 
that  his  side  had  scraped  together  twenty  pounds,  and  that 
this  was  their  final  bid. 

Leibel  wavered ;  the  long  day's  combat  had  told  upon 
him  ;  the  reports  of  the  bride's  distress  had  weakened  him. 
Even  Sugarman  had  lost  his  cocksureness  of  victory.  A 
few  minutes  more  and  both  commissions  might  slip  through 
his  fingers.  Once  the  parties  left  the  Synagogue  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  drive  them  there  another  day.  But  he 
cheered  on  his  man  still  —  one  could  always  surrender  at 
the  tenth  minute. 

At  the  eighth  the  buzz  of  tongues  faltered  suddenly,  to 
be  transposed  into  a  new  key,  so  to  speak.  Through  the 
gesticulating  assembly  swept  that  murmur  of  expectation 
which  crowds  know  when  the  procession  is  coming  at  last. 
By  some  mysterious  magnetism  all  were  aware  that  the 
BRIDE  herself — the  poor  hysteric  bride  —  had  left  the  pa- 
ternal camp,  was  coming  in  person  to  plead  with  her  mer- 
cenary lover. 


'BY   MY   LIFE  THOU   MUST  NOT! 

318 


A  J?OSE    OF  THE    GHETTO.  319 

And  as  the  glory  of  her  and  the  flowers  and  the  white 
draperies  loomed  upon  Leibel's  vision  his  heart  melted  in 
worship,  and  he  knew  his  citadel  would  crumble  in  ruins  at 
her  first  glance,  at  her  first  touch.  Was  it  fair  fighting? 
As  his  troubled  vision  cleared  and  as  she  came  nigh  unto 
him,  he  saw  to  his  amazement  that  she  was  speckless  and 
composed  —  no  trace  of  tears  dimmed  the  fairness  of  her 
face,  there  was  no  disarray  in  her  bridal  wreath. 

The  clock  showed  the  ninth  minute. 

She  put  her  hand  appealingly  on  his  arm,  while  a  heavenly 
light  came  into  her  face  —  the  expression  of  a  Joan  of  Arc 
animating  her  country. 

"  Do  not  give  in,  Leibel,"  she  said.  "  Do  not  have  me  ! 
Do  not  let  them  persuade  thee.  By  my  life  thou  must  not ! 
Go  home  ! " 

So  at  the  eleventh  minute  the  vanquished  Eliphaz  pro- 
duced the  balance,  and  they  all  lived  happily  ever  after- 
wards. 


A  Double-Barrelled  Ghost. 


I  WAS  ruined.  The  bank  in  which  I  had  been  a  sleeping- 
partner  from  my  cradle  smashed  suddenly,  and  I  was  ex- 
empted from  income  tax  at  one  fell  blow.  It  became 
necessary  to  dispose  even  of  the  family  mansion  and  the 
hereditary  furniture.  The  shame  of  not  contributing  to  my 
country's  exchequer  spurred  me  to  earnest  reflection  upon 
how  to  earn  an  income,  and,  having  mixed  myself  another 
lemon-squash,  I  threw  myself  back  on  the  canvas  garden- 
chair,  and  watched  the  white,  scented  wreaths  of  my  cigar- 
smoke  hanging  in  the  drowsy  air,  and  provoking  inexperienced 
bees  to  settle  upon  them.  It  was  the  sort  of  summer  after- 
noon on  which  to  eat  lotus,  and  to  sip  the  dew  from  the  lips 
of  Amaryllises ;  but  although  I  had  an  affianced  Amaryllis 
(whose  Christian  name  was  Jenny  Grant),  I  had  not  the 
heart  to  dally  with  her  in  view  of  my  sunk  fortunes.  She 
loved  me  for  myself,  no  doubt,  but  then  I  was  not  myself 
since  the  catastrophe ;  and  although  she  had  hastened  to 
assure  me  of  her  unchanged  regard,  I  was  not  at  all  certain 
whether  /  should  be  able  to  support  a  wife  in  addition  to  all 
my  other  misfortunes.  So  that  I  was  not  so  comfortable 
that  afternoon  as  I  appeared  to  my  perspiring  valet :  no  rose 
in  the  garden  had  a  pricklier  thorn  than  I.  The  thought  of 
my  poverty  weighed  me  down ;  and  when  the  setting  sun 
began  flinging  bars  of  gold  among  the  clouds,  the  reminder 
of  my  past  extravagance  made  my  heart  heavier  still,  and  I 
broke  down  utterly. 

320 


A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST.  321 

Swearing  at  the  manufacturers  of  such  collapsible  garden- 
chairs,  I  was  struggling  to  rise  when  I  perceived  my  rings  of 
smoke  comporting  themselves  strangely.  They  were  widen- 
ing and  curving  and  flowing  into  definite  outlines,  as  though 
the  finger  of  the  wind  were  shaping  them  into  a  rough  sketch 
of  the  human  figure.  Sprawling  amid  the  ruins  of  my  chair, 
I  watched  the  nebulous  contours  grow  clearer  and  clearer, 
till  at  last  the  agitation  subsided,  and  a  misty  old  gentleman, 
clad  in  vapour  of  an  eighteenth-century  cut,  stood  plainly 
revealed  upon  the  sun-flecked  grass. 

"  Good  afternoon,  John,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  cour- 
teously removing  his  cocked  hat. 

"  Good  afternoon  !  "  I  gasped.  "  How  do  you  know  my 
name?" 

"  Because  I  have  not  forgotten  my  own,"  he  replied.  "  I 
am  John  Halliwell,  your  great-grandfather.  Don't  you  re- 
member me?" 

A  flood  of  light  burst  upon  my  brain.  Of  course  !  I 
ought  to  have  recognised  him  at  once  from  the  portrait  by 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  just  about  to  be  sold  by  auction.  The 
artist  had  gone  to  full  length  in  painting  him,  and  here  he 
was  complete,  from  his  white  wig,  beautifully  frizzled  by  the 
smoke,  to  his  buckled  shoes,  from  his  knee-breeches  to  the 
frills  at  his  wrists. 

"  Oh  !  pray  pardon  my  not  having  recognised  you,"  I 
cried  remorsefully ;  "  I  have  such  a  bad  memory  for  faces. 
Won't  you  take  a  chair?  " 

"Sir,  I  have  not  sat  down  for  a  century  and  a  half,"  he 
said  simply.  "  Pray  be  seated  yourself." 

Thus  reminded  of  my  undignified  position,  I  gathered 
myself  up,  and  readjusting  the  complex  apparatus,  confided 
myself  again  to  its  canvas  caresses.  Then,  grown  conscious 
of  my  shirt-sleeves,  I  murmured,  — 


d 


"PRAY   BE  SEATED  YOURSELF,"   SAID  THE  GHOST   SIMPLY. 

322 


A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST.  323 

"  Excuse  my  deshabille.     I  did  not  expect  to  see  you." 

"  I  am  aware  the  season  is  inopportune,"  he  said  apolo- 
getically. "  But  I  did  not  care  to  put  off  my  visit  till 
Christmas.  You  see,  with  us  Christmas  is  a  kind  of  Bank 
Holiday ;  and  when  there  is  a  general  excursion,  a  refined 
spirit  prefers  its  own  fireside.  Moreover,  I  am  not,  as  you 
may  see,  very  robust,  and  I  scarce  like  to  risk  exposing 
myself  to  such  an  extreme  change  of  temperature.  Your 
English  Christmas  is  so  cold.  With  the  pyrometer  at  three 
hundred  and  fifty,  it  is  hardly  prudent  to  pass  to  thirty.  On 
a  sultry  day  like  this  the  contrast  is  less  marked." 

"  I  understand,"  I  said  sympathetically. 

"  But  I  should  hardly  have  ventured,"  he  went  on,  "  to 
trespass  upon  you  at  this  untimely  season  merely  out  of 
deference  to  my  own  valetudinarian  instincts.  The  fact  is, 
I  am  a  litterateur" 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  I  said  vaguely ;  "  I  was  not  aware  of  it." 

"  Nobody  was  aware  of  it,"  he  replied  sadly ;  "  but  my 
calling  at  this  professional  hour  will,  perhaps,  go  to  substan- 
tiate my  statement." 

I  looked  at  him  blankly.  Was  he  quite  sane?  All  the 
apparitions  I  had  ever  heard  of  spoke  with  some  approach 
to  coherence,  however  imbecile  their  behaviour.  The  sta- 
tistics of  insanity  in  the  spiritual  world  have  never  been 
published,  but  I  suspect  the  percentage  of  madness  is  high. 
Mere  harmless  idiocy  is  doubtless  the  prevalent  form  of 
dementia,  judging  by  the  way  the  poor  unhappy  spirits  set 
about  compassing  their  ends ;  but  some  of  their  actions  can 
only  be  explained  by  the  more  violent  species  of  mania. 
My  great-grandfather  seemed  to  read  the  suspicion  in  my 
eye,  for  he  hastily  continued  :  — 

"  Of  course  it  is  only  the  outside  public  who  imagine  that 
the  spirits  of  literature  really  appear  at  Christmas.  It  is  the 


324  A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST. 

annuals  that  appear  at  Christmas.  The  real  season  at  which 
we  are  active  on  earth  is  summer,  as  every  journalist  knows. 
By  Christmas  the  authors  of  our  being  have  completely  for- 
gotten our  existence.  As  a  writer  myself,  and  calling  in 
connection  with  a  literary  matter,  I  thought  it  more  profes- 
sional to  pay  my  visit  during  the  dog  days,  especially  as 
your  being  in  trouble  supplied  me  with  an  excuse  for  asking 
permission  to  go  beyond  bounds." 

"  You  knew  I  was  in  trouble  ?  "  I  murmured,  touched  by 
this  sympathy  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 

"  Certainly.  And  from  a  selfish  point  of  view  I  am  not 
sorry.  You  have  always  been  so  inconsiderately  happy  that 
I  could  never  find  a  seemly  pretext  to  get  out  to  see  you." 

"  Is  it  only  when  your  descendants  are  in  trouble  that  you 
are  allowed  to  visit  them?"  I  enquired. 

"  Even  so,"  he  answered.  "  Of  course  spirits  whose  births 
were  tragic,  who  were  murdered  into  existence,  are  allowed 
to  supplement  the  inefficient  police  departments  of  the 
upper  globe,  and  a  similar  charter  is  usually  extended  to 
those  who  have  hidden  treasures  on  their  conscience ;  but 
it  is  obvious  that  if  all  spirits  were  accorded  what  furloughs 
they  pleased,  eschatology  would  become  a  farce.  Sir,  you 
have  no  idea  of  the  number  of  bogus  criminal  romances  ten- 
dered daily  by  those  wishing  to  enjoy  the  roving  license  of 
avenging  spirits,  for  the  ex-assassinated  are  the  most  enviable 
of  immortals,  and  cases  of  personation  are  of  frequent  occur- 
rence. Our  actresses,  too,  are  always  pretending  to  have 
lost  jewels  ;  there  is  no  end  to  the  excuses.  The  Christmas 
Bank  Holiday  is  naturally  inadequate  to  our  needs.  Sir,  I 
should  have  been  far  happier  if  my  descendants  had  gone 
wrong ;  but  in  spite  of  the  large  fortune  I  had  accumulated, 
both  your  father  and  your  grandfather  were  of  exemplary 
respectability  and(  unruffled  cheerfulness.  The  solitary 


A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED   GHOST.  325 

outing  I  had  was  when  your  father  attended  a  seance,  and  I 
was  knocked  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  But  I  did  not 
enjoy  my  holiday  in  the  least ;  the  indignity  of  having  to 
move  the  furniture  made  the  blood  boil  in  my  veins  as  in  a 
spirit-lamp,  and  exposed  me  to  the  malicious  badinage  of 
my  circle  on  my  return.  I  protested  that  I  did  not  care  a 
rap/  but  I  was  mightily  rejoiced  when  I  learnt  that  your 
father  had  denounced  the  proceedings  as  a  swindle,  and  was 
resolved  never  to  invite  me  to  his  table  again.  When  you 
were  born  I  thought  you  were  born  to  trouble,  as  the  sparks 
fly  upwards  from  our  dwelling-place ;  but  I  was  mistaken. 
Up  till  now  your  life  has  been  a  long  summer  afternoon." 

"  Yes,  but  now  the  shades  are  falling,"  I  said  grimly.  "It 
looks  as  if  my  life  henceforwards  will  be  a  long  holiday  — 
for  you." 

He  shook  his  wig  mournfully. 

"  No,  I  am  only  out  on  parole.  I  have  had  to  give  my 
word  of  honour  to  try  to  set  you  on  your  legs  again  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"  You  couldn't  have  come  at  a  more  opportune  moment," 
I  cried,  remembering  how  he  had  found  me.  "You  are 
a  good  as  well  as  a  great-grandfather,  and  I  am  proud  of 
my  descent.  Won't  you  have  a  cigar?  " 

"Thank  you,  I  never  smoke  —  on  earth,"  said  the  spirit 
hurriedly,  with  a  flavour  of  bitter  in  his  accents.  "  Let  us 
to  the  point.  You  have  been  reduced  to  the  painful  neces- 
sity of  earning  your  living." 

I  nodded  silently,  and  took  a  sip  of  lemon-squash.  A 
strange  sense  of  salvation  lulled  my  soul. 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  do  it?  "  asked  my  great-grand- 
father. 

"  Oh,  I  leave  that  to  you,"  I  said  confidingly. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  a  literary  career?" 


326  A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST. 

"Eh?    What?"  I  gasped. 

"  A  literary  career,"  he  repeated.  "  What  makes  you  so 
astonished  ?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing  it's  exactly  what  Tom  Addlestone, 
the  leader-writer  of  the  Hurrygraph,  was  recommending  to 
me  this  morning.  He  said  :  '  John,  my  boy,  if  I  had  had 
your  advantages  ten  years  ago,  I  should  have  been  spared 
many  a  headache  and  supplied  with  many  a  dinner.  It 
may  turn  out  a  lucky  thing  yet  that  you  gravitated  so  to 
literary  society,  and  that  so  many  press  men  had  free  passes 
to  your  suppers.  Consider  the  number  of  men  of  letters 
you  have  mixed  drinks  with  !  Why,  man,  you  can  succeed 
in  any  branch  of  literature  you  please.'  " 

My  great-grandfather's  face  was  radiant.  Perhaps  it  was 
only  the  setting  sun  that  touched  it. 

"A  chip  of  the  old  block,"  he  murmured.  "That  was  I 
in  my  young  days.  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  Sheridan,  Burke, 
Hume,  I  knew  them  all  —  gay  dogs,  gay  dogs  !  Except 
that  great  hulking  brute  of  a  Johnson,"  he  added,  with  a 
sudden  savage  snarl  that  showed  his  white  teeth. 

"  I  told  Addlestone  that  I  had  no  literary  ability  whatever, 
and  he  scoffed  at  me  for  my  simplicity.  All  the  same,  I 
think  he  was  only  poking  fun  at  me.  My  friends  might 
puff  me  out  to  bull-size ;  but  I  am  only  a  frog,  and  I  should 
very  soon  burst.  The  public  might  be  cajoled  into  buying 
one  book ;  they  could  not  be  duped  a  second  time.  Don't 
you  think  I  was  right?  I  haven't  any  literary  ability, 
have  I  ? " 

"  Certainly  not,  certainly  not,"  replied  my  great-grand- 
father with  an  alacrity  and  emphasis  that  would  have  seemed 
suspicious  in  a  mere  mortal.  "  But  it  does  seem  a  shame 
to  waste  so  great  an  opportunity.  The  ball  that  Addlestone 
waited  years  for  is  at  your  foot,  and  it  is  grievous  to  think 


A  DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST.  327 

that  there  it  must  remain  merely  because  you  do  not  know 
how  to  kick  it." 

"Well,  but  what's  a  man  to  do?" 

"What's  a  man  to  do?"  repeated  my  great-grandfather 
contemptuously.  "  Get  a  ghost,  of  course." 

"  By  Jove  !  "  I  cried  with  a  whistle.  "  That's  a  good 
idea !  Addlestone  has  a  ghost  to  do  his  leaders  for  him 
when  he's  lazy.  I've  seen  the  young  fellow  myself.  Tom 
pays  him  six  guineas  a  dozen,  and  gets  three  guineas  apiece 
himself.  But  of  course  Tom  has  to  live  in  much  better 
style,  and  that  makes  it  fair  all  round.  You  mean  that  I  am 
to  take  advantage  of  my  influence  to  get  some  other  fellow 
work,  and  take  a  commission  for  the  use  of  my  name? 
That  seems  feasible  enough.  But  where  am  I  to  find  a 
ghost  with  the  requisite  talents?" 

"  Here,"  said  my  great-grandfather. 

"What!     You?" 

"  Yes,  I,"  he  replied  calmly. 

"  But  you  couldn't  write  —  " 

"  Not  now,  certainly  not.   All  I  wrote  now  would  be  burnt." 

"  Then  how  the  devil  —  ?  "  I  began. 

"  Hush  !  "  he  interrupted  nervously.  "  Listen,  and  I  will 
a  tale  unfold.  It  is  called  The  Learned  Pig.  I  wrote  it  in 
my  forty-fifth  year,  and  it  is  full  of  sketches  from  the  life  of 
all  the  more  notable  personages  of  my  time,  from  Lord 
Chesterfield  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  from  Peg  Woffington  to  Adam 
Smith  and  the  ingenious  Mr.  Dibdin.  I  have  painted  the 
portrait  of  Sir  Joshua  quite  as  faithfully  as  he  has  painted 
mine.  Of  course  much  of  the  dialogue  is  real,  taken  from 
conversations  preserved  in  my  note-book.  It  is,  I  believe,  a 
complete  picture  of  the  period,  and  being  the  only  book  I 
ever  wrote  or  intended  to  write,  I  put  my  whole  self  into 
it,  as  well  as  all  my  friends." 


328  A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST. 

"  It  must  be,  indeed,  your  masterpiece,"  I  cried  enthusi- 
astically. "  But  why  is  it  called  The  Learned  Pig,  and  how 
has  it  escaped  publication?" 

"  You  shall  hear.  The  learned  pig  is  Dr.  Johnson.  He 
refused  to  take  wine  with  me.  I  afterwards  learnt  that  he 
had  given  up  strong  liqueurs  altogether,  and  I  went  to  see 
him  again,  but  he  received  me  with  epigrams.  He  is  the 
pivot  of  my  book,  all  the  other  characters  revolving  about 
him.  Naturally,  I  did  not  care  to  publish  during  his  life- 
time ;  not  entirely,  I  admit,  out  of  consideration  to  his  feel- 
ings, but  because  foolish  admirers  had  placed  him  on  such 
a  pedestal  that  he  could  damn  any  book  he  did  not  relish. 
I  made  sure  of  surviving  him,  so  many  and  diverse  were  his 
distempers ;  whereas  my  manuscript  survived  me.  In  the 
moment  of  death  I  strove  to  tell  your  grandfather  of  the 
hiding-place  in  which  I  had  bestowed  it ;  but  I  could  only 
make  signs  to  which  he  had  not  the  clue.  You  can  imagine 
how  it  has  embittered  my  spirit  to  have  missed  the  aim  of 
my  life  and  my  due  niche  in  the  pantheon  of  letters.  In 
vain  I  strove  to  be  registered  among  the  '  hidden  treasure  ' 
spirits,  with  the  preambulatory  privileges  pertaining  to  the 
class.  I  was  told  that  to  recognise  manuscripts  under  the 
head  of  '  treasures  '  would  be  to  open  a  fresh  door  to  abuse, 
there  being  few  but  had  scribbled  in  their  time  and  had  a 
good  conceit  of  their  compositions  to  boot.  I  could  offer 
no  proofs  of  the  value  of  my  work,  not  even  printers'  proofs, 
and  even  the  fact  that  the  manuscript  was  concealed  behind 
a  sliding  pajiel  availed  not  to  bring  it  into  the  coveted  cate- 
gory. Moreover,  not  only  did  I  have  no  other  pretext  to  call 
on  my  descendants,  but  both  my  son  and  grandson  were  too 
respectable  to  be  willingly  connected  with  letters  and  too 
flourishing  to  be  enticed  by  the  prospects  of  profit.  To  you, 
however,  this  book  will  prove  the  avenue  to  fresh  fortune." 


A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED   GHOST.  329 

"  Do  you  mean  I  am  to  publish  it  under  your  name?  " 

"  No,  under  yours." 

" But,  then,  where  does  the  satisfaction  come  in?" 

"Your  name  is  the  same  as  mine." 

"I  see;  but  still,  why  not  tell  the  truth  about  it?  In  a 
preface,  for  instance." 

"  Who  would  believe  it  ?  In  my  own  day  I  could  not 
credit  that  Macpherson  spoke  truly  about  the  way  Ossian 
came  into  his  possession,  nor  to  judge  from  gossip  I  have 
had  with  the  younger  ghosts  did  anyone  attach  credence  to 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  introductions." 

"  True,",  I  said  musingly.  "  It  is  a  played-out  dodge. 
But  I  am  not  certain  whether  an  attack  on  Dr.  Johnson 
would  go  down  nowadays.  We  are  aware  that  the  man 
had  porcine  traits,  but  we  have  almost  canonised  him." 

"The  very  reason  why  the  book  will  be  a  success,"  he 
replied  eagerly.  "  I  understand  that  in  these  days  of  yours 
the  best  way  of  attracting  attention  is  to  fly  in  the  face  of 
all  received  opinion,  and  so  in  the  realm  of  history  to  white- 
wash the  villains  and  tar  and  feather  the  saints.  The  sliding 
panel  of  which  I  spoke  is  just  behind  the  picture  of  me. 
Lose  no  time.  Go  at  once,  even  as  I  must." 

The  shadowy  contours  of  his  form  waved  agitatedly  in 
the  wind. 

"  But  how  do  you  know  anyone  will  bring  it  out?"  I  said 
doubtfully.  "  Am  I  to  haunt  the  publishers'  offices  till  — 

"  No,  no,  I  will  do  that,"  he  interrupted  in  excitement. 
"  Promise  me  you  will  help  me." 

"But  I  don't  feel  at  all  sure  it  stands  a  ghost  of  a  chance," 
I  said,  growing  colder  in  proportion  as  he  grew  more  en- 
thusiastic. 

"  It  is  the  only  chance  of  a  ghost,"  he  pleaded.  "  Come, 
give  me  your  word.  Any  of  your  literary  friends  will  get 


330  A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST. 

you  a  publisher,  and  where  could  you  get  a  more  promising 
ghost?" 

"  Oh,  nonsense  ! "  I  said  quietly,  unconsciously  quoting 
Ibsen.  "There  must  be  ghosts  all  the  country  over,  as 
thick  as  the  sand  of  the  sea." 

I  was  determined  to  put  the  matter  on  its  proper  footing, 
for  I  saw  that  under  pretence  of  restoring  my  fortunes  he 
was  really  trying  to  get  me  to  pull  his  chestnuts  out  of  the 
fire,  and  I  resented  the  deceptive  spirit  that  could  put  for- 
ward such  tasks  as  favours.  It  was  evident  that  he  cherished 
a  post-mortem  grudge  against  the  great  lexicographer,  as 
well  as  a  posthumous  craving  for  fame,  and  wished  to  use 
me  as  the  instrument  of  his  reputation  and  his  revenge.  But 
I  was  a  man  of  the  world,  and  I  was  not  going  to  be  rushed 
by  a  mere  phantom. 

"  I  don't  deny  there  are  plenty  of  ghosts  about,"  he 
answered  with  insinuative  deference.  "  Only  will  any  of  the 
others  work  for  nothing?" 

He  saw  he  had  scored  a  point,  and  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  know  that  I  approve  of  black-legs,"  I 
answered  sternly.  "You  are  taking  the  bread  and  butter 
out  of  some  honest  ghost's  mouth." 

The  corners  of  his  own  mouth  drooped ;  his  eyes  grew 
misty ;  he  looked  fading  away.  "  Most  true,"  he  faltered  ; 
"  but  be  pitiful.  Have  you  no  great-grand-filial  feelings?  " 

"  No,  I  lost  everything  in  the  crash,"  I  answered  coldly. 
"Suppose  the  book's  a  frost?  " 

"  I  shan't  mind,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  would  mind  a  frost,"  I  retorted 
witheringly.  "  But  look  at  the  chaff  you'd  be  letting  me  in 
for.  Hadn't  you  better  put  off  publication  for  a  century  or 
two?" 

"  No,  no,"  he  cried  wildly ;  "  our  mansion  will  pass  into 


A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST.  331 

strange  hands.  I  shall  not  have  the  right  of  calling  on  the 
new  proprietors." 

"  Phew  !  "  I  whistled  ;  "  perhaps  that's  why  you  timed 
your  visit  now,  you  artful  old  codger.  I  have  always  heard 
appearances  are  deceptive.  However,  I  have  ever  been 
a  patron  of  letters ;  and  although  I  cannot  approve  of  post- 
mundane  malice,  and  think  the  dead  past  should  be  let 
bury  its  dead,  still,  if  you  are  set  upon  it,  I  will  try  and  use 
my  influence  to  get  your  book  published." 

"  Bless  you  !  "  he  cried  tremulously,  with  all  the  effusive- 
ness natural  to  an  author  about  to  see  himself  in  print,  and 
trembled  so  violently  that  he  dissipated  himself  away. 

I  stood  staring  a  moment  at  the  spot  where  he  had  stood, 
pleased  at  having  out- manoeuvred  him  ;  then  my  chair  gave 
way  with  another  crash,  and  I  picked  myself  up  painfully, 
together  with  the  dead  stump  of  my  cigar,  and  brushed  the 
ash  off  my  trousers,  and  rubbed  my  eyes  and  wondered  if 
I  had  been  dreaming.  But  no  !  when  I  ran  into  the  cheer- 
less dining-room,  with  its  pervading  sense  of  imminent 
auction,  I  found  the  sliding  panel  behind  the  portrait  by 
Reynolds,  which  seemed  to  beam  kindly  encouragement 
upon  me,  and,  lo  !  The  Learned  Pig  was  there  in  a  mass 
of  musty  manuscript. 

As  everybody  knows,  the  book  made  a  hit.  The  Acadceum 
was  unusually  generous  in  its  praise  :  "  A  lively  picture  of 
the  century  of  farthingales  and  stomachers,  marred  only 
by  numerous  anachronisms  and  that  stilted  air  of  faked-up 
archaeological  knowledge  which  is,  we  suppose,  inevitable 
in  historical  novels.  The  conversations  are  particularly 
artificial.  Still,  we  can  forgive  Mr.  Halliwell  a  good  deal  of 
inaccuracy  and  inacquaintance  with  the  period,  in  view  of 
the  graphic  picture  of  the  literary  dictator  from  the  novel 
point  of  view  of  a  contemporary  who  was  not  among  the 


332  A   DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST. 

worshippers.  It  is  curious  how  the  honest,  sterling  character 
of  the  man  is  brought  out  all  the  more  clearly  from  the 
incapacity  of  the  narrator  to  comprehend  its  greatness  — 
to  show  this  was  a  task  that  called  for  no  little  skill  and 
subtlety.  If  it  were  only  for  this  one  ingenious  idea,  Mr. 
Halliwell's  book  would  stand  out  from  the  mass  of  abortive 
attempts  to  resuscitate  the  past.  He  has  failed  to  picture 
the  times,  but  he  has  done  what  is  better — he  has  given  us 
human  beings  who  are  alive,  instead  of  the  futile  shadows 
that  flit  through  the  Walhalla  of  the  average  historical 
novel." 

All  the  leading  critics  were  at  one  as  to  the  cleverness 
with  which  the  great  soul  of  Dr.  Johnson  was  made  to  stand 
out  on  the  background  of  detraction,  and  the  public  was 
universally  agreed  that  this  was  the  only  readable  historical 
novel  published  for  many  years,  and  that  the  anachronisms 
didn't  matter  a  pin.  I  don't  know  what  I  had  done  to  Tom 
Addlestone  ;  but  when  everybody  was  talking  about  me,  he 
went  about  saying  that  I  kept  a  ghost.  I  was  annoyed,  for 
I  did  not  keep  one  in  any  sense,  and  I  openly  defied  the 
world  to  produce  him.  Why,  I  never  saw  him  again  myself 
—  I  believe  he  was  too  disgusted  with  the  fillip  he  had  given 
Dr.  Johnson's  reputation,  and  did  not  even  take  advantage 
of  the  Christmas  Bank  Holiday.  But  Addlestone's  libel 
got  to  Jenny  Grant's  ears,  and  she  came  to  me  indignantly, 
and  said  :  "  I  won't  have  it.  You  must  either  give  up  me 
or  the  ghost." 

"To  give  up  you  would  be  to  give  up  the  ghost,  darling," 
I  answered  soothingly.  "But  you,  and  you  alone,  have 
a  right  to  the  truth.  It  is  not  my  ghost  at  all,  it  is  my  great- 
grandfather's." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  bequeathed  him  to  you  ?  " 

"  It  came  to  that." 


A  DOUBLE-BARRELLED    GHOST.  333 

I  then  told  her  the  truth,  and  showed  how  in  any  case 
the  profits  of  my  ancestor's  book  rightfully  reverted  back- 
wards to  me.  So  we  were  married  on  them,  and  Jenny, 
fired  by  my  success,  tried  her  hand  on  a  novel,  and  published 
it,  truthfully  enough,  under  the  name  of  J.  Halliwell.  She 
has  written  all  my  stories  ever  since,  including  this  one; 
which,  if  it  be  necessarily  false  in  the  letter,  is  true  in  the 
spirit. 


Vagaries  of  a   Viscount. 


THAT  every  man  has  a  romance  in  his  life  has  always  been 
a  pet  theory  of  mine,  so  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  the 
immaculate  Dorking  smoking  a  clay  pipe  in  Cable  Street 
(late  Ratcliff  Highway)  at  half-past  eight  of  a  winter's 
morning.  Nor  was  I  surprised  to  find  myself  there,  because, 
as  a  romancer,  I  have  a  poetic  license  to  go  anywhere  and 
see  everything.  Viscount  Dorking  had  just  come  out  of  an 
old  do'  shop,  and  was  got  up  like  a  sailor.  Under  his  arm 
was  a  bundle.  He  lurched  against  me  without  recognising 
me,  for  I,  too,  was  masquerading  in  my  shabbiest  and 
roughest  attire,  and  the  morning  was  bleak  and  foggy,  the 
round  red  sun  flaming  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky 
like  the  eye  of  a  cyclop.  But  there  could  be  no  doubt  it 
was  Dorking  —  even  if  I  had  not  been  acquainted  with  the 
sedate  Viscount  (that  paradox  of  the  peerage,  whose  trea- 
tises on  pure  mathematics  were  the  joy  of  Senior  Wranglers) 
I  should  have  suspected  something  shady  from  the  whiteness 
of  my  sailor's  hands. 

Dorking  was  a  dapper  little  man,  almost  dissociable  from 
gloves  and  a  chimneypot.  The  sight  of  him  shambling 
along  like  one  of  the  crew  of  H.  M.  S.  Pinafore  gave  me  a 
pleasant  thrill  of  excitement.  I  turned,  and  followed  him 
along  the  narrow  yellow  street.  He  made  towards  the 
Docks,  turning  down  King  David  Lane.  He  was  apparently 
without  any  instrument  of  protection,  though  I,  for  my  part, 
was  glad  to  feel  the  grasp  of  the  old  umbrella  that  walks 
334 


VAGARIES   OF  A    VISCOUNT.  335 

always  with  me,  hand  in  knob.  Hard  by  the  Shadwell  Basin 
he  came  to  a  halt  before  a  frowsy  coffee-house,  reflectively 
removed  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  whistled  a  bar  of  a 
once  popular  air  in  a  peculiar  manner.  Then  he  pushed 
open  the  bleared  glass  door,  and  was  lost  to  view. 

After  an  instant's  hesitation  I  pulled  my  sombrero  over 
my  eyes  and  strode  in  after  him,  plunging  into  a  wave  of 
musty  warmth  not  entirely  disagreeable  after  the  frigid 
street.  The  boxes  were  full  of  queer  waterside  characters, 
among  whom  flitted  a  young  woman  robustly  beautiful.  The 
Viscount  was  already  smiling  at  her  when  I  entered.  "  Bring 
us  the  usual,"  he  said,  in  a  rough  accent. 

"  Come  along,  Jenny,  pint  and  one,"  impatiently  growled 
a  weather-beaten  old  ruffian  in  a  pilot's  cap. 

"  Pawn  your  face  !  "  murmured  Jenny,  turning  to  me  with 
an  enquiring  air. 

"  Pint  and  one,"  I  said  boldly,  in  as  husky  a  tone  as  I 
could  squeeze  out. 

Several  battered  visages,  evidently  belonging  to  habitues 
of  the  place,  were  bent  suspiciously  in  my  direction ;  per- 
haps because  my  rig-out,  though  rough,  had  no  flavour  of 
sea-salt  or  river-mud,  for  no  one  took  the  least  notice  of 
Dorking,  except  the  comely  attendant.  I  waited  with  some 
curiosity  for  my  fare,  which  turned  out  to  be  nothing  more 
mysterious  than  a  pint  of  coffee  and  one  thick  slice  of  bread 
and  butter.  Not  to  appear  ignorant  of  the  prices  ruling,  I 
tendered  Jenny  a  sixpence,  whereupon  she  returned  me 
fourpence-halfpenny.  This  appeared  to  me  so  ridiculously 
cheap  that  I  had  not  the  courage  to  offer  her  the  change  as 
I  had  intended,  nor  did  she  seem  to  expect  it.  The  pint  of 
coffee  was  served  in  one  great  hulking  cup  such  as  Gargantua 
might  have  quaffed.  I  took  a  sip,  and  found  it  of  the 
flavour  of  chalybeate  springs.  But  it  was  hot,  and  I  made 


336  VAGARIES   OF  A    VISCOUNT. 

shift  to  drink  a  little,  casting  furtive  glances  at  Dorking, 
three  boxes  off  across  the  gangway. 

My  gentleman  sailor  seemed  quite  at  home,  swallowing 
stolidly  as  though  at  his  own  breakfast-table.  I  grew  impa- 
tient for  him  to  have  done,  and  beguiled  the  time  by  study- 
ing a  placard  on  the  wall  offering  a  reward  for  information 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  a  certain  ship's  cook  who  was 
wanted  for  knifing  human  flesh.  And  presently,  curiously 
enough,  in  comes  a  police-sergeant  on  this  very  matter,  and 
out  goes  Dorking  (rather  hastily,  I  thought),  with  me  at  his 
heels. 

No  sooner  had  he  got  round  a  corner  than  he  started  run- 
ning at  a  rate  that  gave  me  a  stitch  in  the  side.  He  did 
not  stop  till  he  reached  a  cab-rank.  There  was  only  one 
vehicle  on  it,  and  the  coughing,  red-nosed  driver,  unpleas- 
antly suggesting  a  mixture  of  grog  and  fog,  was  climbing  to 
his  seat  when  I  came  cautiously  and  breathlessly  up,  and 
Dorking  was  returning  to  his  trousers'  pocket  a  jingling  mass 
of  gold  and  silver  coins,  which  he  had  evidently  been  exhib- 
iting to  the  sceptical  cabman.  He  seemed  to  walk  these 
regions  with  the  fearlessness  of  Una  in  the  enchanted  forest. 
I  had  no  resource  but  to  hang  on  to  the  rear,  despite  the 
alarums  of  "  whip  behind,"  raised  by  envious  and  inconsid- 
erate urchins. 

And  in  this  manner,  defiantly  dodging  the  cabman,  who 
several  times  struck  me  unfairly  behind  his  back,  I  drove 
through  a  labyrinth  of  sordid  streets  to  the  Bethnal  Green 
Museum.  Here  we  alighted,  and  the  Viscount  strolled 
about  outside  the  iron  railings,  from  time  to  time  anxiously 
scrutinising  the  church  clock  and  looking  towards  the  foun- 
tain which  only  performs  in  the  summer,  and  was  then  wear- 
ing its  winter  night-cap.  At  last,  as  if  weary  of  waiting, 
he  walked  with  sudden  precipitation  towards  the  turnstile, 


VAGARIES  OF  A    VISCOUNT.  337 

and  was  lost  to  view  within.  After  a  moment  I  followed 
him,  but  was  stopped  by  the  janitor,  who,  with  an  air  of 
astonishment,  informed  me  there  was  sixpence  to  pay,  it 
being  a  Wednesday.  I  understood  at  once  why  the  Vis- 
count had  selected  this  day,  for  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen 
inside,  and  it  was  five  minutes  ere  I  discovered  him.  He 
was  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery,  before  one  of  Sir  Peter 
Lely's  insipid  beauties,  which  to  my  surprise  he  was  copying 
in  pencil.  Evidently  he  was  trying  to  while  away  the  time. 
At  eleven  o'clock  to  the  second  he  scribbled  something 
underneath  the  sketch,  folded  it  up  carefully,  picked  up  his 
bundle  and  walked  unhesitatingly  downstairs  into  the  second 
gallery,  where,  after  glancing  about  to  assure  himself  that 
the  policeman's  head  was  turned  away,  he  deposited  the 
paper  between  two  bottles  of  tape-worms,  and  stole  out 
through  the  back  door.  Feverishly  seizing  the  sketch,  I 
followed  him,  but  the  policeman's  eye  was  now  upon  me, 
and  I  had  to  walk  with  dignified  slowness,  though  I  was  in 
agonies  lest  I  should  lose  my  man.  My  anxiety  was  justi- 
fied ;  when  I  reached  the  grounds,  the  Viscount  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  I  ran  hither  and  thither  like  a  madman, 
along  the  back  street  and  about  the  grounds,  hacking  my 
shins  against  a  perambulator,  and  at  last  sank  upon  a  frigid 
garden  seat,  breathless  and  exhausted.  I  now  bethought 
me  of  the  paper  clenched  in  my  fist,  and,  smoothing  it  out, 
deciphered  these  words  faintly  pencilled  beneath  a  caricature 
of  the  Court  beauty :  — 

"  Not  my  fault  you  missed  me.  If  you  are  still  set  on 
your  folly,  you  will  find  me  lunching  at  the  Chingford 
Hotel." 

I  sprang  up  exultant,  new  fire  in  my  veins.  True,  the 
mystery  was  darkening,  but  it  was  the  darkness  that  precedes 
the  dawn. 


338  VAGARIES   OF  A    VISCOUNT. 

"  Cherchez  la  femme! "  I  muttered,  and  darting  down 
Three  Colts  Lane  I  reached  the  Junction,  only  to  find  the 
barrier  dashed  in  my  face.  But  half-a-crown  drove  it  back, 
and  I  sprang  into  the  guard's  van  on  his  very  heels.  A  shil- 
ling stifled  the  oath  on  his  lips,  and  transferred  it  to  mine 
when  I  discovered  I  had  jumped  into  the  Enfield  Fast. 
Before  I  really  got  to  Chingford  it  was  long  past  noon.  But 
I  found  him. 

The  Viscount  was  toying  with  a  Chartreuse  in  the  dining- 
room.  The  waiters  eyed  me  suspiciously,  for  I  was  shabby 
and  dusty  and  haggard-looking.  To  my  surprise  Dorking 
had  doffed  the  sailor,  and  wore  a  loud  checked  suit !  He 
looked  up  as  I  entered,  but  did  not  appear  to  recognise  me. 
There  was  no  one  with  him.  Still  I  had  found  him.  That 
was  the  prime  thing. 

Becoming  conscious  I  was  faint  with  hunger,  I  took  up 
the  menu,  when  to  my  vexation  I  saw  the  Viscount  pay  his 
bill,  and  don  an  overcoat  and  a  billy-cock,  and  ere  I  could 
snatch  bite  or  sup  I  was  striding  along  the  slimy  forest 
paths,  among  the  gaunt,  fog-wrapped  trees,  following  the 
Viscount  by  his  footprints  whenever  I  lost  him  for  a  moment 
among  the  avenues.  Dorking  marched  with  quick,  decisive 
steps.  In  the  heart  of  the  forest,  by  a  great  oak,  whose 
roots  sprawled  in  every  direction,  he  came  to  a  standstill. 
Hidden  behind  some  brushwood,  I  awaited  the  sequel  with 
beating  heart. 

The  Viscount  took  out  a  great  coloured  handkerchief,  and 
spread  it  carefully  over  the  roots  of  the  oak ;  then  he  sat 
down  on  the  handkerchief,  and  whistled  the  same  bar  of 
the  same  once  popular  air  he  had  whistled  outside  the 
coffee-house.  Immediately  a  broken-nosed  man  emerged 
from  behind  a  bush,  and  addressed  the  Viscount.  I  strained 
my  ears,  but  could  not  catch  their  conversation,  but  I  he*>.rd 


VAGARIES   OF  A    VISCOUNT.  339 

Dorking  laugh  heartily,  as  he  sprang  up  and  clapped  the 
man  on  the  shoulder.  They  walked  off  together. 

I  was  now  excited  to  the  wildest  degree ;  I  forgot  the 
pangs  of  baffled  appetite ;  my  whole  being  was  strung  to 
find  a  key  to  the  strange  proceedings  of  the  mathematical 
Viscount.  Tracking  their  double  footsteps  through  the 
mist,  I  found  them  hobnobbing  in  a  public-house  on  the 
forest  border.  After  peeping  in,  I  ran  round  to  another 
door,  and  stood  in  an  adjoining  bar,  where,  without  being 
seen,  I  could  have  a  snack  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  hear 
all. 

"  Could  you  bring  her  round  to  my  house  to-night  ?  "  said 
Dorking,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  You  shall  have  the  money 
down." 

"  Right,  sir  ! "  said  the  man.  And  then  their  pewters 
clinked. 

To  my  chagrin  this  was  all  the  conversation.  The  Vis- 
count strode  out  alone  —  except  for  my  company.  The  fog 
had  grown  deeper,  and  I  was  glad  to  be  conducted  to  the 
station.  This  time  we  went  to  Liverpool  Street.  Dorking 
lingered  at  the  book-stall,  and  at  last  enquired  if  they  had 
yesterday's  Times.  Receiving  a  reply  in  the  negative,  he 
clucked  his  tongue  impatiently.  Then,  as  with  a  sudden 
thought,  he  ran  up  to  the  North  London  Railway  book-stall, 
only  to  be  again  disappointed.  He  took  out  the  great 
coloured  handkerchief,  and  wiped  his  forehead.  Then  he 
entered  into  confidential  conversation  with  an  undistin- 
guished stranger,  fat  and  foreign,  who  had  been  looking 
eagerly  up  and  down  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  platform. 
Re-descending  into  the  street,  he  jumped  into  a  Charing 
Cross  'bus.  As  he  went  inside  I  had  no  option  but  to  go 
outside,  though  the  air  was  yellow  and  I  felt  chilled  to  the 
bone. 


340 


VAGARIES   OF  A    VISCOUNT. 


Alighting  at  Charing  Cross,  he  went  into  the  telegraph 
office,  and  wrote  a  telegram.  The  composition  seemed  to 
cause  him  great  difficulty.  Standing  outside  the  door,  I 
saw  him  discard  two  half-begun  forms.  When  he  came  out 
I  made  a  swift  calculation  of  the  chances,  and  determined 


IN   CONFIDENTIAL  CONVERSATION   WITH   AN   UNDISTINGUISHED 
FOREIGNER. 

to  secure  the  two  forms,  even  at  the  risk  of  losing  him. 
Neither  had  an  address.  One  read  :  "  If  you  are  still  set  on 
your  fol — "  ;  the  other  :  "Come  to-night  if  you  are  still  —  " 
Bolting  out  with  these  precious  scraps  of  evidence,  that  only 
added  fuel  to  the  flame  of  curiosity  that  was  consuming  me, 
I  turned  cold  to  find  the  Viscount  swallowed  up  in  the 
crowd.  After  an  instant's  agonised  hesitation,  I  hailed  a 


VAGARIES   OF  A    VISCOUNT.  341 

hansom,  and  drove  to  his  flat  in  Victoria  Street.  The  valet 
told  me  the  Viscount  was  ill  in  bed,  and  could  not  see  me. 
I  read  in  his  face  that  it  was  a  lie.  I  resolved  to  loiter 
outside  the  building  till  Dorking's  return. 

I  had  not  long  to  wait.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  a  hansom 
discharged  him  at  my  feet.  Had  I  not  been  prepared  for 
anything,  I  should  not  have  recognised  him  again  in  his  red 
whiskers,  white  hat,  and  blue  spectacles.  He  rang  the  bell, 
and  enquired  of  his  own  valet  if  Viscount  Dorking  was  at 
home.  The  man  said  he  was  ill  in  bed. 

"  Oh,  we'll  soon  put  him  on  his  legs  again,"  interrupted 
Dorking,  with  a  professional  air,  and  pushed  his  valet  aside. 
In  that  moment  the  solution  dawned  upon  me.  Dorking 
was  mad 7  Nothing  but  insanity  would  account  for  his 
day's  vagaries.  I  felt  it  was  my  duty,  as  a  fellow-creature, 
to  look  to  him.  I  followed  him,  to  the  open-eyed  conster- 
nation of  the  valet.  Suddenly  he  turned  upon  me,  and 
seized  me  savagely  by  the  throat.  I  felt  choking.  My 
worst  fear  was  confirmed. 

"  No  further,  my  man,"  he  cried,  flinging  me  back. 
"  Now  go,  and  tell  her  ladyship  how  you  have  earned  your 
fee  ! " 

"  Dorking  !  are  you  mad  ?  "  I  gasped.  "  Don't  you 
remember  me  —  Mr.  Pry  —  from  the  Bachelor's  Club  ?  " 

"  Great  heavens,  Paul !  "  he  cried.  Then  he  fell  back  on 
an  ottoman,  and  laughed  till  the  whiskers  ran  down  his  sides. 
He  always  had  a  sense  of  humour,  I  remembered. 

We  explained  the  situation  to  each  other.  Dorking  had 
an  eccentric  aunt  who  wished  to  leave  her  money  to  him. 
Suddenly  Dorking  learnt  from  his  valet,  who  was  betrothed 
to  her  ladyship's  maid,  that  she  had  taken  it  into  her  head 
he  could  not  be  so  virtuous  and  so  devoted  to  pure  mathe- 
matics as  he  appeared,  and  so  she  had  commissioned  a 


342  VAGARIES   OF  A    VISCOUNT. 

private  detective  agency  to  watch  her  nephew,  and  discover 
how  deep  the  still  waters  ran.  Incensed  at  the  suspicion,  he 
had  that  day  started  a  course  of  action  calculated  to  bam- 
boozle the  agency,  and  having  no  other  meaning  whatever. 

When  he  caught  sight  of  me  gazing  at  him  so  curiously 
he  mistook  me  for  one  of  its  minions,  and  determined  to 
lead  me  a  dance  ;  the  mistake  was  confirmed  by  my  patient 
obedience  to  his  piping. 

The  broken-nosed  man  was  an  accident.  Anticipating 
his  value  as  a  beautiful  false  clue,  Dorking  laughed  uproar- 
iously at  the  sight  of  him,  and  readily  agreed  to  buy  a 
French  poodle.  " 


HI  Pi  ETC 


NCE  upon  a  time  there 
was  a  Queen  who  un- 
expectedly gave  birth 
to  three  Princes.  They  were  all 
so  exactly  alike  that  after  a  mo- 
ment or  two  it  was  impossible 
to  remember  which  was  the 
eldest  or  which  was  the  young- 
est. Any  two  of  them,  sort 
them  how  you  pleased,  were 
always  twins.  They  all  cried  in 
the  same  key  and  with  the  same 
comic  grimaces.  In  short,  there 
was  not  a  hair's-breadth  of  dif- 
ference between  them — not  that 
they  had  a  hair's-breadth  be- 
tween them,  for,  like  most  babies, 
they  were  prematurely  bald. 


344  THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 

The  King  was  very  much  put  out.  He  did  not  mind 
the  expense  of  keeping  three  Heir  Apparents,  for  that 
fell  on  the  country,  and  was  defrayed  by  an  impost  called 
"  The  Queen's  Tax."  But  it  was  the  consecrated  custom 
of  the  kingdom  that  the  crown  should  pass  over  to  the 
eldest  son,  and  the  absence  of  accurate  knowledge  upon 
this  point  was  perplexing.  A  triumvirate  was  out  of  the 
question ;  the  multiplication  of  monarchs  would  be  vexa- 
tion to  the  people,  and  the  rule  of  three  would  drive  them 
mad. 

The  Queen  was  just  as  annoyed,  though  on  different 
grounds.  She  felt  it  hard  enough  to  be  the  one  mother  in 
the  realm  who  could  not  get  the  Queen's  bounty,  without 
having  to  suffer  the  King's  reproaches.  Her  heart  was 
broken,  and  she  died  soon  after  of  laryngitis. 

To  distinguish  the  triplets  (when  it  was  too  late)  they  were 
always  dressed  one  in  green,  one  in  blue,  and  one  in  black, 
the  colours  of  the  national  standard,  and  naturally  got  to  be 
popularly  known  by  the  sobriquets  of  the  Green  Prince,  the 
Blue  Prince,  and  the  Black  Prince.  Every  year  they  got 
older  and  older  till  at  last  they  became  young  men.  And 
every  year  the  King  got  older  and  older  till  at  last  he  became 
an  old  man,  and  the  fear  crept  into  his  heart  that  he  might 
be  restored  to  his  wife  and  leave  the  kingdom  embroiled 
in  civil  feud  unless  he  settled  straightway  who  should  be  the 
heir.  But,  being  human,  notwithstanding  his  court  laureates, 
he  put  off  the  disagreeable  duty  from  day  to  day,  and  might 
have  died  without  an  heir,  if  the  envoys  from  Paphlagonia 
had  not  aroused  him  to  the  necessity  of  a  decision.  For 
they  announced  that  the  Princess  of  Paphlagonia,  being 
suddenly  orphaned,  would  be  sent  to  him  in  the  twelfth 
moon  that  she  might  marry  his  eldest  son  as  covenanted 
by  ancient  treaty.  This  was  the  last  straw.  "  But  I  don't 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 


345 


know  who  is  my  eldest  son  !  "  yelled  the  King,  who  had 
a  vast  respect  for  covenants  and  the  Constitution. 

In  great  perturbation  he  repaired  to  a  famous  Oracle, 
at  that  time  worked  by  a  priestess  with  her  hair  let  down 
her  back.  The  King  asked  her  a  plain  question  :  "  Which 
is  my  eldest  son?" 


"  '  THE   ELDEST   IS   HE  THAT   THE   PRINCESS   SHALL  WED.'  " 

After  foaming  at   the  mouth  like  an  open   champagne 
bottle,  she  replied  :  — 

"The  eldest  is  he  that  the  Princess  shall  wed." 
The  King  said  he  knew  that  already,  and  was  curtly  told 
that  if  the  replies  did  not  give  satisfaction  he  could  go  else- 
where.    So  he  went  to  the  wise  men  and  the  magicians,  and 


346  THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 

held  a  levee  of  them,  and  they  gave  him  such  goodly  coun- 
sel that  the  Chief  Magician  was  henceforth  honoured  with 
the  privilege  of  holding  the  Green,  Black,  and  Blue  Tricolour 
over  the  King's  head  at  mealtimes.  Soon  after,  it  being  the 


"THE  CHIEF  MAGICIAN." 

twelfth  moon,  the  King  set  forward  with  a  little  retinue  to 
meet  the  Princess  of  Paphlagonia,  whose  coming  had  got 
abroad ;  but  returned  two  days  later  with  the  news  that  the 
Princess  was  confined  to  her  room,  and  would  not  arrive  in 
the  city  till  next  year. 


On  the  last  day  of  the  year  the  King 
summoned  the  three  Princes  to  the  Pres- 
ence Chamber.    And  they  came,  the  Green  ) 
Prince,  and  the  Blue  Prince,  and  the  Black 
Prince,  and  made  obeisance  to  the  Mon- 
arch, who  sat  in  moir£  antique  robes,  on  tfie 
old  gold  throne,  with  his  courtiers  all  around  him. 
"  My  sons,"  he  said,  "  ye  are  aware  that,  ac- 
cording to  the  immemorial  laws  of  the  realm,  one 
of  you  is  to  be  my  heir,  only  I  know  not  which 
of  you  he  is ;  the  difficulty  is  complicated  by  the 
fact  that  I  have  covenanted  to  espouse  him   to 
the  Princess  of  Paphlagonia,  of  whose  imminent 
arrival  ye  have  heard.     In  this  dilemma  there  are 
those  who  would  set  the  sovereignty  of  the 
State  upon  the  hazard  of  a  die.    But  not  by 
such  undignified   methods   do  I  deem  it 
prudent  to  extort  the  designs  of  the  gods. 
There  are  ways  alike  more  honour- 
able to  you  and  to  me  of  ascertaining 
the  intentions  of  the  fates.     And 
first,  the  wise  men  and  the  magi- 
cians recommend  that  ye  be  all 
three  sent  forth  upon  an  ardu- 
ous emprise.   As  all  men  know,   -^jE-. 


348 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 


somewhere  in  the  great  seas  that  engirdle  our  dominion, 
somewhere  beyond  the  Ultimate  Thule,  there  rangeth  a  vast 
monster,  intolerable,  not  to  be  borne.  Every  ninth  moon 
this  creature  approacheth  our  coasts,  deluging  the  land  with 
an  inky  vomit.  This  plaguy  Serpent  cannot  be  slain,  for 


'"THERE    RANGETH    A   VAST   MONSTER.'" 

the  soothsayers  aver  it  beareth  a  charmed  life,  but  it  were  a 
mighty  achievement,  if  for  only  one  year,  the  realm  could  be 
relieved  of  its  oppression.  Are  ye  willing  to  set  forth  sepa- 
rately upon  this  knightly  quest  ?  " 

Then  the  three   Princes   made  enthusiastic  answer,  en- 
treating to  be  sped  on  the  journey  forthwith,  and  a  great 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS.  349 

gladness  ran  through  the  Presence  Chamber,  for  all  had 
suffered  much  from  the  annual  incursions  of  the  monster. 
And  the  King's  heart  was  fain  of  the  gallant  spirit  of  the 
Princes. 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  he.  "To-morrow,  at  the  first  dawn  of 
the  new  year,  shall  ye  fare  forth  together ;  when  ye  reach 
the  river  ye  shall  part,  and  for  eight  moons  shall  ye  wander 
whither  ye  will ;  only,  when  the  ninth  moon  rises,  shall  ye 
return  and  tell  me  how  ye  have  fared.  Hasten  now,  there- 
fore, and  equip  yourselves  as  ye  desire,  and  if  there  be  aught 
that  will  help  you  in  the  task,  ye  have  but  to  ask  for  it." 

Then,  answering  quickly  before  his  brothers  could  speak, 
the  Black  Prince  cried  :  "  Sire,  I  would  crave  the  magic 
boat  which  saileth  under  the  sea  and  destroyeth  mighty 
armaments." 

"  It  is  thine,"  replied  the  King. 

Then  the  Green  Prince  said  :  "  Sire,  grant  me  the  magic 
car  which  saileth  through  the  air  over  the  great  seas." 

The  Black  Prince  started  and  frowned,  but  the  King 
answered,  "  It  is  granted."  Then,  turning  to  the  Blue  Prince, 
who  seemed  lost  in  meditation,  the  King  said  :  "  Why  art 
thou  silent,  my  son?  Is  there  nothing  I  can  give  thee?  " 

"Thanks,  I  will  take  a  little  pigeon,"  answered  the  Blue 
Prince  abstractedly. 

The  courtiers  stared  and  giggled,  and  the  Black  Prince 
chuckled,  but  the  Blue  Prince  was  seemingly  too  proud  to 
back  out  of  his  request. 

So  at  sunrise  on  the  morrow  the  three  Princes  set  .forth, 
journeying  together  till  they  came  to  the  river  where  they 
had  agreed  to  part  company.  Here  the  magic  boat  was 
floating  at  anchor,  while  the  magic  car  was  tied  to  the  trunk 
of  a  plane-tree  upon  the  bank,  and  the  little  pigeon,  fastened 
by  a  thread,  was  fluttering  among  the  branches. 


350  THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 

Now,  when  the  Green  Prince  saw  the  puny  pigeon,  he 
was  like  to  die  of  laughing. 

"Dost  thou  think  to  feed  the  Serpent  with  thy  pigeon?" 
he  sneered.  "I  fear  me  thou  wilt  not  choke  him  off  thus." 

"And  what  hast  thou  to  laugh  at?"  retorted  the  Black 
Prince,  interposing.  "  Dost  thou  think  to  find  the  Serpent 
of  the  Sea  in  the  air?" 

"  He  is  always  in  the  air,"  murmured  the  Blue  Prince, 
inaudibly. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Green  Prince,  scratching  his  head 
dubiously.  "  But  thou  didst  so  hastily  annex  the  magic 
boat,  I  had  to  take  the  next  best  thing." 

"Dost  thou  accuse  me  of  unfairness?"  cried  the  Black 
Prince  in  a  pained  voice.  "  Sooner  than  thou  shouldst  say 
that,  I  would  change  with  thee." 

"Wouldst  thou,  indeed?"  enquired  the  Green  Prince 
eagerly. 

"Ay,  that  would  I,"  said  the  Black  Prince  indignantly. 
"  Take  the  magic  boat,  and  may  the  gods  speed  thee."  So 
saying  he  jumped  briskly  into  the  magic  car,  cut  the  rope, 
and  sailed  aloft.  Then,  looking  down  contemptuously  upon 
the  Blue  Prince,  he  shouted  :'  "  Come,  mount  thy  pigeon, 
and  be  off  in  search  of  the  monster." 

But  the  Blue  Prince  replied,  "  I  will  await  you  here." 

Then  the  Green  Prince  pushed  off  his  boat,  chuckling 
louder  than  ever.  "  Dost  thou  expect  to  keep  the  creature 
off  our  coasts  by  guarding  the  head  of  the  river  ?  "  he  scoffed. 

But  the  Blue  Prince  replied,  "  I  will  await  you  both  here 
till  the  ninth  moon." 

No  sooner  were  his  brothers  gone  than  the  Blue  Prince 
set  about  building  a  hut.  Here  he  lived  happily,  fishing  his 
meals  out  of  the  river  or  snaring  them  out  of  the  sky.  The 
pigeon  was  never  for  a  moment  in  danger  of  being  eaten. 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS.  361 

It  was  employed  more  agreeably  to  itself  and  its  master  in 
operations  which  will  appear  anon.  Most  of  the  time  the 
Blue  Prince  lay  on  his  back  among  the  wild  flowers,  watch- 
ing the  river  rippling  to  the  sea  or  counting  the  passing  of 
the  eight  moons,  that  alternately  swelled  and  dwindled,  now 
showing  like  the  orb  of  the  Black  Prince's  car,  now  like  the 
Green  Prince's  boat.  Sometimes  he  read  scraps  of  papyrus, 
and  his  face  shone. 

One  lovely  starry  night,  as  the  Blue  Prince  was  watching 
the  heavens,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  eighth  moon  in 
dying  had  dropped  out  of  the  firmament  and  was  falling 
upon  him.  But  it  was  only  the  Black  Prince  come  back. 
His  garments  were  powdered  with  snow,  his  brows  were 
knitted  gloomily,  he  had  a  dejected,  despondent  aspect. 

"Thou  here  !"  he  snapped. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  Blue  Prince  cheerfully,  though  he 
seemed  a  little  embarrassed  all  the  same.  "  Haven't  I  been 
here  all  the  time  ?  But  go  into  my  hut,  I've  kept  supper 
hot  for  thee." 

"Has  the  Green  Prince  had  his?" 

"  No,  I  haven't  seen  anything  of  him.  Hast  thou  scotched 
the  Serpent?" 

"  No,  I  haven't  seen  anything  of  him,"  growled  the  Black 
Prince.  "I've  passed  backwards  and  forwards  over  the 
entire  face  of  the  ocean,  but  nowhere  have  I  caught  the 
slightest  glimpse  of  him.  What  a  fool  I  was  to  give  up 
the  magic  boat !  He  never  seems  to  come  to  the  surface." 

All  this  while  the  Blue  Prince  was  dragging  his  brother 
with  suspicious  solicitude  towards  the  hut,  where  he  sat  him 
down  to  his  own  supper  of  ortolans  and  oysters.  But  the 
host  had  no  sooner  run  outside  again,  on  the  pretext  of 
seeing  if  the  Green  Prince  was  coming,  than  there  was 
a  disturbance  and  eddying  in  the  stream  as  of  a  rally  of 


362 


THE    QUEEN'S    TJUPLETS. 


water-rats,  and  the  magic 
boat  shot  up  like  a  cata- 
pult, and  the  Green  Prince  stepped  on 
deck  all  dry  and  dusty,  and  with  the  air 
of  a  draggled  dragon-fly. 
"Good    evening,    hast    thou     er  — 
scotched  the  Serpent?"  stammered  the 
Blue  Prince,  taken  aback. 
"  No,  I  haven't  even  seen 
anything  of  him,"  growled 
the  Green  Prince.  "I 
have  skimmed  along 
the  entire  surface  of 
the  ocean,  and 
sailed    every 
inch  beneath  it,  T^-=^~l 
but  nowhere 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS.  353 

have  I  caught  the  slightest  glimpse  of  him.  What  a  fool 
I  was  to  give  up  the  magic  car  !  From  a  height  I  could 
have  commanded  an  ampler  area  of  ocean.  Perhaps  he 
was  up  the  river." 

"  No,  I  haven't  seen  anything  of  him,"  replied  the  Blue 
Prince  hastily.  "  But  go  into  my  hut,  thy  supper  must  be 
getting  quite  cold."  He  hurried  his  verdant  brother  into 
the  hut,  and  gave  him  some  chestnuts  out  of  the  oven  (it 
was  the  best  he  could  do  for  him),  and  then  rushed  outside 
again,  on  the  plea  of  seeing  if  the  Serpent  was  coming.  But 
he  seemed  to  expect  him  to  come  from  the  sky,  for,  leaning 
against  the  trunk  of  the  plane-tree  by  the  river,  he  resumed 
his  anxious  scrutiny  of  the  constellations.  Presently  there 
was  a  gentle  whirring  in  the  air,  and  a  white  bird  became 
visible,  flying  rapidly  downwards  in  his  direction.  Almost 
at  the  same  instant  he  felt  himself  pinioned  by  a  rope  to 
the  tree-trunk,  and  saw  the  legs  of  the  alighting  pigeon 
neatly  prisoned  in  the  Black  Prince's  fist. 

"Aha  !"  croaked  the  Black  Prince  triumphantly.  "Now 
we  shall  see  through  thy  little  schemes." 

He  detached  the  slip  of  papyrus  which  dangled  from  the 
pigeon's  neck. 

"How  darest  thou  read  my  letters?"  gasped  the  Blue 
Prince. 

"  If  I  dare  to  rob  the  mail,  I  shall  certainly  not  hesitate 
to  read  the  letters,"  answered  the  Black  Prince  coolly,  and 
went  on  to  enunciate  slowly  (for  the  light  was  bad)  the 
following  lines  :  — 

"  Heart-sick  I  watch  the  old  moon's  ling'ring  death, 
And  long  upon  my  face  to  feel  thy  breath; 
I  burn  to  see  its  final  flicker  die, 
And  greet  our  moon  of  honey  in  the  sky." 


354 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 


"  What  is  all  this  moonshine  ?  "  he  concluded  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

Now  the  Blue  Prince  was  the  soul  of  candour,  and  seeing 
that  nothing  could  now  be  lost  by  telling  the  truth,  he 
answered  :  — 

"  This  is  a  letter  from  a  damsel  who  resideth  in  the  Tower 
of  Telifonia,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  capital ;  we  are 
engaged.  No  doubt  the  lan- 
guage seemeth  to  thee  a  little 
overdone,  but  wait  till  thy  turn 
cometh." 

"  And  so  thou  hast  employed 
this  pigeon  as  a  carrier  between 
thee  and  this  suburban  young 
person  ? "  cried  the  Black 
Prince,  feeling  vaguely  boiling 
over  with  rage. 

"Even  so,"  answered  his 
brother, "  but  guard  thy  tongue. 
The  lady  of  whom  thou  speak- 
est  so  disrespectfully  is  none 
other  than  the  Princess  of 
Paphlagonia." 

"Eh?  What?"  gasped  the 
Black  Prince. 

"  She  hath  resided  there  since  the  twelfth  moon  of  last 
year.  The  King  received  her  the  first  time  he  set  out  to 
meet  her." 

"  Dost  thou  dare  say  the  King  hath  spoken  untruth?  " 

"  Nay,  nay.     The  King  is  a  wise  man.     Wise  men  never 

mean  what  they  say.     The  King  said  she  was  confined  to 

her  room.     It  is  true,  for  he  had  confined  her  in  the  Tower 

with  her  maidens  for  fear  she  should  fall  in  love  with  the 


THE   DAMSEL   OF   THE   TOWER. 


THE   QUEEN'S   TRIPLETS.  355 

wrong  Prince,  or  the  reverse,  before  the  rightful  heir  was 
discovered.  The  King  said  she  would  not  arrive  in  the  city 
till  next  year.  This  also  is  true.  As  thou  didst  rightly  ob- 
serve, the  Tower  of  Telifonia  is  situated  in  the  suburbs. 
The  King  did  not  bargain  for  my  discovering  that  a  beauti- 
ful woman  lived  in  its  topmost  turret." 

"  Nay,  how  couldst  thou  discover  that  ?  The  King  did 
not  lend  thee  the  magic  car,  and  thou  certainly  couldst  not 
see  her  at  that  height  without  the  magic  glass  !  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  her.  But  through  the  embrasure  I 
often  saw  the  sunlight  flashing  and  leaping  like  a  thing  of 
life,  and  I  knew  it  was  what  the  children  call  a  '  Johnny 
Noddy.'  Now  a  '  Johnny  Noddy '  argueth  a  mirror,  and 
a  mirror  argueth  a  woman,  and  frequent  use  thereof  argueth 
a  beautiful  woman.  So,  when  in  the  Presence  Chamber  the 
King  told  us  of  his  dilemma  as  to  the  hand  of  the  Princess 
of  Paphlagonia,  it  instantly  dawned  upon  me  who  the  beau- 
tiful woman  was,  and  why  the  King  was  keeping  her  hidden 
away,  and  why  he  had  hidden  away  his  meaning  also. 
Wherefore  straightway  I  asked  for  a  pigeon,  knowing  that 
the  pigeons  of  the  town  roost  on  the  Tower  of  Telifonia,  so 
that  I  had  but  to  fly  my  bird  at  the  end  of  a  long  string 
like  a  kite  to  establish  communication  between  me  and  the 
fair  captive.  In  time  my  little  messenger  grew  so  used  to 
the  journey  to  and  fro  that  I  could  dispense  with  the  string. 
Our  courtship  has  been  most  satisfactory.  We  love  each 
other  ardently,  and  — ' 

"  But  you  have  never  seen  each  other  !  "  interrupted  the 
Black  Prince. 

"  Thou  forgettest  we  are  both  royal  personages,"  said  the 
Blue  Prince  in  astonished  reproof. 

"  But  this  is  gross  treachery  —  what  right  hadst  thou  to 
make  these  underhand  advances  in  our  absence  ?  " 


356  THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 

"  Thou  forgettest  I  had  to  scotch  the  Serpent,"  said  the 
Blue  Prince  in  astonished  reproof.  "Thou  forgettest  also 
that  she  can  only  marry  the  heir  to  the  throne." 

"Ah,  true  !"  said  the  Black  Prince,  considerably  relieved. 
"And  as  thou  hast  chosen  to  fritter  away  the  time  in  making 
love  to  her,  thou  hast  taken  the  best  way  to  lose  her." 

"Thou  forgettest  I  shall  have  to  marry  her,"  said  the 
Blue  Prince  in  astonished  reproof.  "  Not  only  because  I 
have  given  my  word  to  a  lady,  but  because  I  have  promised 
the  King  to  do  my  best  to  scotch  the  Serpent  of  the  Sea. 
Really  thou  seemest  terribly  dull  to-day.  Let  me  put  the 
matter  in  a  nutshell.  If  he  who  scotches  the  Sea  Serpent 
is  to  marry  the  Princess,  then  would  I  scotch  the  Sea  Serpent 
by  marrying  the  Princess,  and  marry  the  Princess  to  scotch 
the  Sea  Serpent.  Thou  hast  searched  the  face  of  the  sea, 
and  our  brother  has  dragged  its  depths,  and  nowhere  have  ye 
seen  the  Sea  Serpent.  Yet  in  the  ninth  moon  he  will  surely 
come,  and  the  land  will  be  covered  with  an  inky  vomit  as 
in  former  years.  But  if  I  marry  the  Princess  of  Paphlagonia 
in  the  ninth  moon,  the  Royal  Wedding  will  ward  off  the 
Sea  Serpent,  and  not  a  scribe  will  shed  ink  to  tell  of  his 
advent.  Therefore,  instead  of  ranging  through  the  earth, 
I  stayed  at  home  and  paid  my  addresses  to  the  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  what  a  fool  I  was  ! "  interrupted  the  Black 
Prince,  smiting  his  brow  with  his  palm,  so  that  the  pigeon 
escaped  from  between  his  fingers,  and  winged  its  way  back 
to  the  Tower  of  Telifonia  as  if  to  carry  his  words  to  the 
Princess. 

"Thou  forgettest  thou  art  a  fool  still,"  said  the  Blue 
Prince  in  astonished  reproof.  "  Prithee,  unbind  me  forth- 
with." 

"  Nay,  I  am  a  fool  no  longer,  for  it  is  I  that  shall  wed  the 
Princess  of  Paphlagonia  and  scotch  the  Sea  Serpent,  it  is  I 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 


367 


that  have  sent  the  pigeon  to  and  fro,  and  unless  thou  mak- 
est  me  thine  oath  to  be  silent  on  the  matter  I  will  slay  thee 
and  cast  thy  body  into 
the  river." 

"Thou  forgettest  our 
brother,  the  Green 
Prince,"  said  the  Blue 
Prince  in  astonished  re- 
proof. 

"  Bah  !  he  hath  eyes 
for  -naught  but  the  odd 
ortolans  and  oysters  I 
sacrificed  that  he  might 
gorge  himself  withal, 
while  I  spied  out  thy 
secret.  He  shall  be  told 
that  I  returned  to  ex- 
change my  car  for  thy 
pigeon  even  as  I  ex- 
changed my  boat  for  his 
car.  Come,  thine  oath 
or  thou  diest."  And  a 
jewelled  scimitar  shim- 
mered in  the  starlight. 

The  Blue  Prince  reflected  that  though  life  without  love 
was  hardly  worth  living,  death  was  quite  useless.  So  he 
swore  and  went  in  to  supper.  When  he  found  that  the 
Green  Prince  had  not  spared  even  a  baked  chestnut  before 
he  fell  asleep,  he  swore  again.  And  on  the  morrow  when 
the  Princes  approached  the  Tower  of  Telifonia,  with  its 
flashing  "  Johnny  Noddy,"  they  met  a  courier  from  the  King, 
who,  having  informed  himself  of  the  Black  Prince's  success, 
ran  ahead  with  the  rumour  thereof.  And  lo  !  when  the 


1 A  JEWELLED  SCIMITAR   SHIMMERED  IN 
THE    STARLIGHT." 


368  THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 

Princes  passed  through  the  city  gate  they  found  the  whole 
population  abroad  clad  in  all  their  bravery,  and  flags  flying 
and  bells  ringing  and  roses  showering  from  the  balconies, 
and  merry  music  swelling  in  all  the  streets  for  joy  of  the 
prospect  of  the  Sea  Serpent's  absence.  And  when  the  new 
moon  rose,  the  three  Princes,  escorted  by  flute-players,  hied 
them  to  the  Presence  Chamber,  and  the  King  embraced  his 
sons,  and  the  Black  Prince  stood  forward  and  explained  that 
if  a  Prince  were  married  in  the  ninth  moon  it  would  prevent 
the  monster's  annual  visit.  Then  the  King  fell  upon  the 
Black  Prince's  neck  and  wept  and  said,  "  My  son  !  my  son  ! 
my  pet !  my  baby  !  my  tootsicums  !  my  popsy-wopsy  !  " 

And  then,  recovering  himself,  and  addressing  the  courtiers, 
he  said :  "  The  gods  have  enabled  me  to  discover  my 
youngest  son.  If  they  will  only  now  continue  as  propitious, 
so  that  I  may  discover  the  elder  of  the  other  two,  I  shall  die 
not  all  unhappy." 

But  the  Black  Prince  could  repress  his  astonishment  no 
longer.  "Am  I  dreaming,  sire?"  he  cried.  "Surely  I 
have  proved  myself  the  eldest,  not  the  youngest !  " 

"Thou  forgettest  that  thou  hast  come  off  successful," 
replied  the  King  in  astonished  reproof.  "  Or  art  thou  so 
ignorant  of  history  or  of  the  sacred  narratives  handed  down 
to  us  by  our  ancestors  that  thou  art  unaware  that  when  three 
brothers  set  out  on  the  same  quest,  it  is  always  the  youngest 
brother  that  emerges  triumphant?  Such  is  the  will  of  the 
gods.  Cease,  therefore,  thy  blasphemous  talk,  lest  they 
overhear  thee  and  be  put  out." 

A  low,  ominous  murmur  from  the  courtiers  emphasised 
the  King's  warning. 

"  But  the  Princess  —  she  at  least  is  mine,"  protested  the 
unhappy  Prince.  "  We  love  each  other  —  we  are  engaged." 

"  Thou  forgettest  she  can  only  marry  the  heir,"  replied 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS.  359 

the  King  in  astonished  reproof.     "Wouldst  thou  have  us 
repudiate  our  solemn  treaty?" 

"But  I  wasn't  really  the  first  to  hit  on  the  idea  at  all !  " 


"'THE   GODS   HAVE   ENABLED   ME  TO   DISCOVER   MY  YOUNGEST  SON.'" 

cried  the  Black  Prince  desperately.     "  Ask  the  Blue  Prince  ! 
he  never  telleth  untruth." 

"  Thou '  forgettest  I  have  taken  an  oath  of  silence  on  the 
matter,"  replied  the  Blue  Prince  in  astonished  reproof. 
"The  Black  Prince  it  was  that  first  hit  on  the  idea,"  volun- 


360  THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS. 

teered  the  Green  Prince.  "  He  exchanged  his  boat  for  the 
car  and  the  car  for  the  pigeon." 

So  the  three  Princes  were  dismissed,  while  the  King  took 
counsel  with  the  magicians  and  the  wise  men  who  never 
mean  what  they  say.  And  the  Court  Chamberlain,  wearing 
the  orchid  of  office  in  his  buttonhole,  was  sent  to  interview 
the  Princess,  and  returned  saying  that  she  refused  to  marry 
any  one  but  the  proprietor  of  the  pigeon,  and  that  she  still 
had  his  letters  as  evidence  in  case  of  his  marrying  anyone 
else. 

"  Bah  ! "  said  the  King,  "  she  shall  obey  the  treaty.  Six 
feet  of  parchment  are  not  to  be  put  aside  for  the  whim  of  a 
girl  five  foot  eight.  The  only  real  difficulty  remaining  is  to 
decide  whether  the  Blue  Prince  or  the  Green  Prince  is  the 
elder.  Let  me  see — wh*  was  it  the  Oracle  said?  Per- 
il will  be  clearer  now  :  — 


"  'The  eldest  is  he  that  the  Princess  shall  wed.' 

No,  it  still  seems  merely  to  avoid  stating  anything  new." 

"  Pardon  me,  sire,"  replied  the  Chief  Magician ;  "  it 
seems  perfectly  plain  now.  Obviously,  thou  art  to  let  the 
Princess  choose  her  husband,  and  the  Oracle  guarantees 
'that,  other  things  being  equal,  she  shall  select  the  eldest. 
If  thou  hadst  let  her  have  the  pick  from  among  the  three, 
she  would  have  selected  the  one  with  whom  she  was  in  love 
—  the  Black  Prince  to  wit,  and  that  would  have  interfered 
with  the  Oracle's  arrangements.  But  now  that  we  know 
with  whom  she  is  in  love,  we  can  remove  that  one,  and  then, 
there  being  no  reason  why  she  should  choose  the  Green 
Prince  rather  than  the  Blue  Prince,  the  deities  of  the 
realm  undertake  to  inspire  her  to  go  by  age  only." 

"Thou   hast   spoken   well,"   said   the   King.     "Let   the 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS.  361 

Princess  of  Paphlagonia  be  brought,  and  let  the  two  Princes 
return." 

So  after  a  space  the  beautiful  Princess,  preceded  by  trum- 
peters, was  conducted  to  the  Palace,  blinking  her  eyes  at 
the  unaccustomed  splendour  of  the  lights.  And  the  King 
and  all  the  courtiers  blinked  their  eyes,  dazzled  by  her 
loveliness.  She  was  clad  in  white  samite,  and  on  her 
shoulder  was  perched  a  pet  pigeon.  The  King  sat  in 
his  moir6  robes  on  the  old  gold  throne,  and  the  Blue  Prince 
stood  on  his  right  hand,  and  the  Green  Prince  on  his  left, 
the  Black  Prince  as  the  youngest  having  been  sent  to  bed 
early.  The  Princess  courtesied  three  times,  the  third  time 
so  low  that  the  pigeon  was  flustered,  and  flew  off  her  shoulder, 
and,  after  circling  about,  alighted  on  the  head  of  the  Blue 
Prince. 

"  It  is  the  Crown,"  said  the  Chief  Magician,  in  an  awe- 
struck voice.  Then  the  Princess's  eyes  looked  around  in 
search  of  the  pigeon,  and  when  they  lighted  on  the  Prince's 
head  they  kindled  as  the  grey  sea  kindles  at  sunrise. 

An  answering  radiance  shone  in  the  Blue  Prince's  eyes, 
as,  taking  the  pigeon  that  nestled  in  his  hair,  he  let  it  fly 
towards  the  Princess.  But  the  Princess,  her  bosom  heaving 
as  if  another  pigeon  fluttered  beneath  the  white  samite, 
caught  it  and  set  it  free  again,  and  again  it  made  for  the 
Blue  Prince. 

Three  times  the  bird  sped  to  and  fro.  Then  the  Princess 
raised  her  humid  eyes  heavenward,  and  from  her  sweet  lips 
rippled  like  music  the  verse  :  — 

"  Last  night  I  watched  its  final  flicker  die." 

And  the  Blue  Prince  answered :  — 

"  N<nu  greet  our  moon  of  honey  in  the  sky." 


'THE   BEAUTIFUL   PRINCESS,   PRECEDED    BY   TRUMPETERS,    WAS   CONDUCTED 
TO  THE   PALACE." 


THE    QUEEN'S    TRIPLETS.  363 

Half  fainting  with  rapture  the  Princess  fell  into  his  arms, 
and  from  all  sides  of  the  great  hall  arose  the  cries,  "  The 
Heir !  The  Heir !  Long  live  our  future  King !  The 
eldest-born  !  The  Oracle's  fulfilled  !  " 

Such  was  the  origin  of  lawn  tennis,  which  began  with 
people  tossing  pigeons  to  each  other  in  imitation  of  the 
Prince  and  Princess  in  the  Palace  Hall.  And  this  is  why 
love  plays  so  great  a  part  in  the  game,  and  that  is  how  the 
match  was  arranged  between  the  Blue  Prince  and  the  Prin- 
cess of  Paphlagonia. 


A  Successful  Operation. 


ROBERT  came  home,  anxious  and  perturbed.  For  the 
first  time  since  his  return  from  their  honeymoon  he  crossed 
the  threshold  of  the  tiny  house  without  a  grateful  sense  of 
blessedness. 

"  What  is  it,  Robert  ?  "  panted  Mary,  her  sweet  lips  cold 
from  his  perfunctory  kiss. 

"  He  is  going  blind,"  he  said  in  low  tones. 

"  Not  your  father  ! "  she  murmured,  dazed. 

"  Yes,  my  father  !  I  thought  it  was  nothing,  or  rather  I 
scarcely  thought  about  it  at  all.  The  doctor  at  the  Eye 
Hospital  merely  asked  him  to  bring  some  one  with  him  next 
time ;  naturally  he  came  to  me."  There  was  a  touch  of 
bitterness  about  the  final  phrase. 

"  Oh,  how  terrible  !  "  said  Mary.  Her  pretty  face  looked 
almost  wan. 

"  I  don't  see  that  you're  called  upon  to  distress  yourself 
so  much,  dear,"  said  Robert,  a  little  resentfully.  "He 
hasn't  even  been  a  friend  to  you." 

"  Oh,  Robert !  how  can  you  think  of  all  that  now  ?  If  he 
did  try  to  keep  you  from  marrying  a  penniless,  friendless 
girl,  if  he  did  force  you  to  work  long  years  for  me,  was  it 
not  all  for  the  best?  Now  that  his  fortune  has  been  swept 
away,  where  would  you  be  without  money  or  occupation?  " 

"  Where  would  Providence  be  without  its  women-defend- 
ers?" murmured  Robert.  "  You  don't  understand  finance, 
364 


A   SUCCESSFUL    OPERATION.  365 

dear.  He  might  easily  have  provided  for  me  long  before 
the  crash  came." 

"  Never  mind,  Robert.  Are  we  not  all  the  happier  for 
having  waited  for  each  other?"  And  in  the  spiritual  ec- 
stasy of  her  glance  he  forgot  for  a  while  his  latest  trouble. 

Robert's  father  lived  in  a  little  room  on  a  small  allowance 
made  him  by  his  outcast  son.  Broken  by  age  and  mis- 
fortune, he  pottered  about  chess-rooms  and  debating  forums, 
garrulous  and  dogmatic,  and  given  to  tippling.  But  now 
the  consciousness  of  his  coming  infirmity  crushed  him,  and 
he  sat  for  days  on  his  bed  brooding,  waiting  in  terror  for  the 
darkness,  and  glad  when  day  after  day  ended  only  in  the 
shadows  of  eve.  Sometimes,  instead  of  the  dreaded  dark- 
ness, sunlight  came.  That  was  when  Mary  dropped  in  to 
cheer  him  up,  and  to  repeat  to  him  that  the  hospital  took  a 
most  hopeful  view  of  his  case,  was  only  waiting  for  the  dark- 
ness to  be  thickest  to  bring  back  the  dawn.  It  took  four 
months  before  the  light  faded  utterly,  and  then  another 
month  before  the  film  was  opaque  enough  to  allow  the  cata- 
ract to  be  couched.  The  old  man  was  to  go  into  the  hospital 
for  the  operation.  Robert  hired  a  lad  to  be  with  him  during 
the  month  of  waiting,  and  sometimes  sat  with  him  in  the 
evenings,  after  business,  and  now  and  then  the  landlady 
looked  in  and  told  him  her  troubles,  and  the  attendant  was 
faithful  and  went  out  frequently  to  buy  him  gin.  But  it  was 
only  Mary  who  could  really  soothe  him  now,  for  the  poor 
old  creature's  soul  groped  blindly  amid  new  apprehensions 
—  a  nervous  dread  of  the  chloroforming,  the  puncturing, 
the  strange  sounds  of  voices  of  the  great  blank  hospital, 
where  he  felt  confusedly  he  would  be  lost  in  an  ocean  of 
unfathomable  night,  incapable  even  of  divining,  from  past 
experience,  the  walls  about  him  or  the  ceiling  over  his  head, 
and  withal  a  paralysing  foreboding  that  the  operation  would 


366  A   SUCCESSFUL    OPERATION. 

be  a  failure,  that  he  would  live  out  the  rest  of  his  days  with 
the  earth  prematurely  over  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear,"  he  would  say 
when  Mary  came,  and  then  he  fell  a- maundering  self- 
pitifully. 

Mary  went  home  one  day  and  said,  "  Robert,  dear,  I  have 
been  thinking."  . 

"Yes,  my  pet,"  he  said  encouragingly,  for  she  looked 
timid  and  hesitant. 

"  Couldn't  we  have  the  operation  performed  here  ?  " 

He  was  startled ;  protested,  pointed  out  the  impossibility. 
But  she  had  answers  for  all  his  objections.  They  could  give 
up  their  own  bedroom  for  a  fortnight  —  it  would  only  be  a 
fortnight  or  three  weeks  at  most  —  turn  their  sitting-room 
into  a  bedroom  for  themselves.  What  if  infinite  care 
would  be  necessary  in  regulating  the  "  dark  room,"  surely 
they  could  be  as  careful  as  the  indifferent  hospital  nurses  if 
they  were  only  told  what  to  do,  and  as  for  the  trouble,  that 
wasn't  worth  considering. 

"  But  you  forget,  my  foolish  little  girl,"  he  said  at  last, 
"  if  he  comes  here  we  shall  have  to  pay  the  expenses  of  the 
operation  ourselves." 

"Well,  would  that  be  much?"  she  asked  innocently. 

"  Only  fifty  guineas  or  so,  I  should  think,"  he  replied 
crushingly.  "  What  with  the  operating  fee,  and  the  nurse, 
and  the  subsequent  medical  attendance." 

But  Mary  was  not  altogether  crushed.  "  It  wouldn't  be 
all  our  savings,"  she  murmured. 

"  Are  you  forgetting  what  we  shall  be  needing  our  savings 
for?"  he  said  with  gentle  reproach,  as  he  stroked  her  soft 
hair. 

She  blushed  angelically.  "  No,  but  surely  there  will  be 
enough  left  and  —  and  I  shall  be  making  all  his  things 


A   SUCCESSFUL    OPERATION.  367 

myself — and  by  that   time  we  shall  have  put  by  a  little 
more." 

In  the  end  she  conquered.  The  old  man,  to  whom  no 
faintest  glimmer  now  penetrated,  was  installed  in  the  best 
bedroom,  which  was  darkened  by  double  blinds  and  strips 
of  cloth  over  every  chink  and  a  screen  before  the  door; 
and  a  nurse  sat  on  guard  lest  any  ray  or  twinkle  should  find 
its  way  into  the  pitchy  gloom.  The  great  specialist  came 
with  two  assistants,  and  departed  in  an  odour  of  chloroform, 
conscious  of  another  dexterous  deed,  to  return  only  when 
the  critical  moment  of  raising  the  bandage  should  have 
arrived.  During  the  fortnight  of  suspense  an  assistant 
replaced  him,  and  the  old  man  lay  quiet  and  hopeful,  rous- 
ing himself  to  talk  dogmatically  to  his  visitors.  Mary  gave 
him  such  time  as  she  could  spare  from  household  duties, 
and  he  always  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  (so  that  his  band- 
age just  grazed  her  hair) ,  remarking  he  was  very  glad  to  see 
her.  It  was  a  strange  experience,  these  conversations  carried 
on  in  absolute  darkness,  and  they  gave  her  a  feeling  of 
kinship  with  the  blind.  She  discovered  that  smiles  were 
futile,  and  that  laughter  alone  availed  in  this  uncanny  inter- 
course. For  compensation,  her  face  could  wear  an  anxious 
expression  without  alarming  the  patient.  But  it  rarely  did, 
for  her  spirits  mounted  with  his.  Before  the  operation  she 
had  been  terribly  anxious,  wondering  at  the  last  moment  if 
it  would  not  have  been  performed  more  safely  at  the  hospital, 
and  ready  to  take  upon  her  shoulders  the  responsibility  for 
a  failure.  But  as  day  after  day  went  by,  and  all  seemed 
going  well,  her  thoughts  veered  round.  She  felt  sure  they 
would  not  have  been  so  careful  at  the  hospital.  It  was  owing 
to  this  new  confidence  that  one  fatal  night,  carrying  her 
candle,  she  walked  mechanically  into  her  bedroom,  for- 
getting it  was  not  hers.  The  nurse  sprang  up  instantly, 


368  A   SUCCESSFUL    OPERATION. 

rushed  forward,  and  blew  out  the  light.  Mary  screamed, 
the  screen  fell  with  a  clatter,  the  blind  old  man  awoke  and 
shrieked  nervously  —  it  was  a  terrible  moment. 

After  that  Mary  went  through  agonies  of  apprehension 
and  remorse.  Fortunately  the  end  of  the  operation  was 
very  near  now.  In  a  day  or  two  the  great  specialist  came 
to  remove  the  bandage,  while  the  nurse  carefully  admitted 
a  feeble  illumination.  If  the  patient  could  see  now,  the 
rest  was  a  mere  matter  of  time,  of  cautious  gradation  of 
light  in  the  sick  chamber,  so  that  there  might  be  no  relapse. 
Mary  dared  not  remain  in  the  room  at  the  instant  of  supreme 
crisis ;  she  lingered  outside,  overwrought.  Slowly,  with  in- 
finite solicitude,  the  bandage  was  raised. 

"  Can  you  see  anything?  "  burst  from  Robert's  lips. 

"  Yes,  but  what  makes  the  window  look  red  ?  "  grumbled 
the  old  man. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  the  great  specialist  in  loud, 
hearty  accents. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  sobbed  Mary's  voice  outside. 

When  her  child  was  born  it  was  blind. 


Flutter-Duck. 

A   GHETTO   GROTESQUE. 

i 

CHAPTER   I. 

FLUTTER-DUCK   IN   FEATHER. 

"  So  sitting,  served  by  man  and  maid, 
She  felt  her  heart  grow  prouder." 

— TENNYSON:   The  Goose. 

ALTHOUGH  everybody  calls  her  "  Flutter- Duck  "  now,  there 
was  a  time  when  the  inventor  had  exclusive  rights  in  the 
nickname,  and  used  it  only  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  apart- 
ment. That  time  did  not  last  long,  for  the  inventor  was 
Flutter-Duck's  husband,  and  his  apartment  was  a  public 
work-room  among  other  things.  He  gave  her  the  name  in 
Yiddish  —  Flatterkatchki — a  descriptive  music  in  syllables, 
full  of  the  flutter  and  quack  of  the  farm-yard.  It  expressed 
his  dissatisfaction  with  her  airy,  flighty  propensities,  her  love 
of  gaiety  and  gadding.  She  was  a  butterfly,  irresponsible, 
off  to  balls  and  parties  almost  once  a  month,  and  he,  a  self- 
conscious  ant,  resented  her.  From  the  point  of  view  of 
piety  she  was  also  sadly  to  seek,  rejecting  wigs  in  favour 
of  the  fringe.  In  the  weak  moments  of  early  love  her  hus- 
band had  acquiesced  in  the  profanity,  but  later  all  the  gain 
to  her  soft  prettiness  did  not  compensate  for  the  twinges  of 
his  conscience. 

369 


370  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

Flutter-Duck's  husband  was  a  furrier  —  a  master-furrier, 
for  did  he  not  run  a  workshop?  This  workshop  was  also 
his  living-room,  and  this  living-room  was  also  his  bedroom. 
It  was  a  large  front  room  on  the  first  floor,  over  a  chandler's 
shop  in  an  old-fashioned  house  in  Montague  Street,  White- 
chapel.  Its  shape  was  peculiar  —  an  oblong  stretching 
streetwards,  interrupted  in  one  of  the  longer  walls  by  a 
square  projection  that  might  have  been  accounted  a  room 
in  itself  (by  the  landlord),  and  was,  indeed,  used  as  a  kitchen. 
That  the  fireplace  had  been  built  in  this  corner  was  thus 
an  advantage.  Entering  through  the  door  on  the  grand 
staircase,  you  found  yourself  nearest  the  window  with  the 
bulk  of  the  room  on  your  left,  and  the  square  recess  at  the 
other  end  of  your  wall,  so  that  you  could  not  see  it  at  first. 
At  the  window,  which,  of  course,  gave  on  Montague  Street, 
was  the  bare  wooden  table  at  which  the  "  hands  "  —  man, 
woman,  and  boy  —  sat  and  stitched.  The  finished  work  — 
a  confusion  of  fur  caps,  boas,  tippets,  and  trimmings  —  hung 
over  the  dirty  wainscot  between  the  door  and  the  recess. 
The  middle  of  the  room  was  quite  bare,  to  give  the  workers 
freedom  of  movement,  but  the  wall  facing  you  was  a  back- 
ground for  luxurious  furniture.  First  —  nearest  the  window 
—  came  a  sofa,  on  which  even  in  the  first  years  of  marriage 
Flutter- Duck's  husband  sometimes  lay  prone,  too  unwell 
to  do  more  than  superintend  the  operations,  for  he  was  of 
a  consumptive  habit.  Over  the  sofa  hung  a  large  gilt-framed 
mirror,  the  gilt  protected  by  muslin  drapings,  in  the  corners 
of  which  flyblown  paper  flowers  grew.  Next  to  the  sofa 
was  a  high  chest  of  drawers  crowned  with  dusty  decanters, 
and  after  an  interval  filled  up  with  the  Sabbath  clothes 
hanging  on  pegs  and  covered  by  a  white  sheet ;  the  bed  used 
up  the  rest  of  the  space,  its  head  and  one  side  touching  the 
walls,  and  its  foot  stretching  towards  the  kitchen  fire.  On 


FL  UT  TER-D  UCK.  371 

the  wall  above  this  fire  hung  another  mirror,  —  small  and 
narrow,  and  full  of  wavering,  watery  reflections,  —  also 
framed  in  muslin,  though  this  time  the  muslin  served  to 
conceal  dirt,  not  to  protect  gilt.  The  kitchen-dresser, 
decorated  with  pink  needle-work  paper,  was  at  right  angles 
to  the  fireplace,  and  it  faced  the  kitchen  table,  at  which 
Flutter-Duck  cleaned  fish,  peeled  potatoes,  and  made 
meat  kosher  by  salting  and  soaking  it,  as  Rabbinic  law 
demanded. 

By  the  foot  of  the  bed,  in  the  narrow  wall  opposite  the 
window,  was  a  door  leading  to  a  tiny  inner  room.  For  years 
this  door  remained  locked ;  another  family  lived  on  the 
other  side,  and  the  furrier  had  neither  the  means  nor  the 
need  for  an  extra  bedroom.  It  was  a  room  made  for  esca- 
pades and  romances,  connected  with  the  back-yard  by  a 
steep  ladder,  up  and  down  which  the  family  might  be  seen 
going,  and  from  which  you  could  tumble  into  a  broken- 
headed  water-butt,  or,  by  a  dexterous  back-fall,  arrive  in  a 
dustbin.  Jacob's  ladder  the  neighbours  called  it,  though 
the  family  name  was  Isaacs. 

And  over  everything  was  the  trail  of  the  fur.  The  air  was 
full  of  a  fine  fluff —  a  million  little  hairs  floated  about  the 
room  covering  everything,  insinuating  themselves  every- 
where, getting  down  the  backs  of  the  workers  and  tickling 
them,  getting  into  their  lungs  and  making  them  cough,  get- 
ting into  their  food  and  drink  and  sickening  them  till  they 
learnt  callousness.  They  awoke  with  "  furred "  tongues, 
and  they  went  to  bed  with  them.  The  irritating  filaments 
gathered  on  their  clothes,  on  their  faces,  on  the  crockery, 
on  the  sofa,  on  the  mirrors  (big  and  little),  on  the  bed,  on 
the  decanters,  on  the  sheet  that  hid  the  Sabbath  clothes  — 
an  impalpable  down  overlaying  everything,  penetrating  even 
to  the  drinking-water  in  the  board-covered  zinc  bucket,  and 


372  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

covering  "Rebbitzin,"  the  household  cat,  with  foreign  fur. 
And  in  this  room,  drawing  such  breath  of  life,  they  sat  — 
man,  woman,  boy  —  bending  over  boas  bewitching  young 
ladies  would  skate  in ;  stitch,  stitch,  from  eight  till  two  and 
from  three  to  eight,  with  occasional  overtime  that  ran  on 
now  and  again  far  into  the  next  day ;  till  their  eyelids  would 
not  keep  open  any  longer,  and  they  couched  on  the  floor  on 
a  heap  of  finished  work ;  stitch,  stitch,  winter  and  summer, 
all  day  long,  swallowing  hirsute  bread  and  butter  at  nine  in 
the  morning,  and  pausing  at  tea-time  for  five  o'clock  fur. 
And  when  twilight  fell  the  gas  was  lit  in  the  crowded  room, 
thickening  still  further  the  clogged  atmosphere,  charged 
with  human  breaths  and  street  odours,  and  wafts  from  the 
kitchen  corner  and  the  leathery  smell  of  the  dyed  skins ; 
and  at  times  the  yellow  fog  would  steal  in  to  contribute  its 
clammy  vapours.  And  often  of  a  winter's  morning  the  fog 
arrived  early,  and  the  gas  that  had  lighted  the  first  hours  of 
work  would  burn  on  all  day  in  the  thick  air,  flaring  on  the 
Oriental  figures  with  that  strange  glamour  of  gas-light  in  fog, 
and  throwing  heavy  shadows  on  the  bare  boards ;  glazing 
with  satin  sheen  the  pendent  snakes  of  fur,  illuming  the 
bowed  heads  of  the  workers  and  the  master's  sickly  face 
under  the  tasselled  smoking-cap,  and  touching  up  the  faded 
fineries  of  Flutter- Duck,  as  she  flitted  about,  chattering  and 
cooking. 

Into  such  an  atmosphere  Flutter-Duck  one  day  introduced 
a  daughter,  the  "  hands  "  getting  an  afternoon  off,  in  honour 
not  of  the  occasion  but  of  decency.  After  that  the  crying 
of  an  infant  became  a  feature  of  existence  in  the  furrier's 
workshop ;  gradually  it  got  rarer,  as  little  Rachel  grew  up 
and  reconciled  herself  to  life.  But  the  fountain  of  tears 
never  quite  ran  dry.  Rachel  was  a  passionate  child,  and 
did  not  enjoy  the  best  of  parents. 


FLUTTER-DUCK.  373 

Every  morning  Flutter-Duck,  who  felt  very  grateful  to 
Heaven  for  this  crowning  boon,  —  at  one  time  bitterly  du- 
bious, —  made  the  child  say  her  prayers.  Flutter-Duck  said 
them  word  by  word,  and  Rachel  repeated  them.  They 
were  in  Hebrew,  and  neither  Flutter- Duck  nor  Rachel  had 
the  least  idea  what  they  meant.  For  years  these  prayers 
preluded  stormy  scenes. 

"  Medidni!  "  Flutter-Duck  would  begin. 

"Mediant/"  little  Rachel  would  lisp  in  her  piping  voice. 
It  was  two  words,  but  Flutter-Duck  imagined  it  was  one. 
She  gave  the  syllables  in  recitative,  the  dni  just  two  notes 
higher  than  the  medi,  and  she  accented  them  quite  wrongly. 
When  Rachel  first  grew  articulate,  Flutter-Duck  was  so 
overjoyed  to  hear  the  little  girl  echoing  her,  that  she  would 
often  turn  to  her  husband  with  an  exclamation  of  "  Thou 
hearest,  Lewis,  love?" 

And  he,  impatiently  :  "  Nee,  nee,  I  hear." 

Flutter-Duck,  thus  recalled  from  the  pleasures  of  mater- 
nity to  its  duties,  would  recommence  the  prayer.  "  Medi- 
dni! " 

Which  little  Rachel  would  silently  ignore. 

"  Medidni!  "  Flutter-Duck's  tone  would  now  be  impera- 
tive and  ill-tempered. 

Then  little  Rachel  would  turn  to  her  father  querulously. 
"  She  thayth  it  again,  Medidni,  father  !  " 

And  Flutter- Duck,  outraged  by  this  childish  insolence, 
would  exclaim,  "Thou  hearest,  Lewis,  love?"  and  incon- 
tinently fall  to  clouting  the  child.  And  the  father,  annoyed 
by  the  shrill  ululation  consequent  upon  the  clouting  :  "  Nee, 
nee,  I  hear  too  much."  Rachel's  refusal  to  be  coerced  into 
giving  devotional  over-measure  was  not  merely  due  to  her 
sense  of  equity.  Her  appetite  counted  for  more.  Prayers 
were  the  avenue  to  breakfast,  and  to  pamper  her  feather- 


374  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

headed  mother  in  repetitions  was  to  put  back  the  meal. 
Flutter-Duck  was  quite  capable  of  breaking  down,  even  in 
the  middle,  if  her  attention  was  distracted  for  a  moment, 
and  of  trying  back  from  the  very  beginning.  She  would, 
for  example,  get  as  far  as  "  Hear  —  my  daughter  —  the  in- 
struction —  of  thy  mother,"  giving  out  the  words  one  by 
one  in  the  sacred  language  which  was  to  her  abracadabra. 

And  little  Rachel,  equally  in  the  dark,  would  repeat  obe- 
diently, "  Hear  —  my  daughter  —  the  instruction  of —  thy 
mother."  Then  the  kettle  would  boil,  or  Flutter-Duck 
would  overhear  a  remark  made  by  one  of  the  "  hands,"  and 
interject:  "Yes,  I'd  give  him!"  or,  "A  fat  lot  she  knows 
about  it,"  or  some  phrase  of  that  sort ;  after  which  she 
would  grope  for  the  lost  thread  of  prayer,  and  end  by  ejac- 
ulating desperately :  — 

"  Medidni!  " 

And  the  child  sternly  setting  her  face  against  this  flip- 
pancy, there  would  be  slapping  and  screaming,  and  if  the 
father  protested,  Flutter-Duck  would  toss  her  head,  and 
rejoin  in  her  most  dignified  English  :  "  If  I  bin  a  mother,  I 
bin  a  mother  !  " 

To  the  logical  adult  it  will  be  obvious  that  the  little  girl's 
obstinacy  put  the  breakfast  still  further  back ;  but  then,  ob- 
stinate little  girls  are  not  logical,  and  when  Rachel  had  been 
beaten  she  would  eat  no  breakfast  at  all.  She  sat  sullenly 
in  the  corner,  her  pretty  face  swollen  by  weeping,  and 
her  great  black  eyes  suffused  with  tears.  Only  her  father 
could  coax  her  then.  He  would  go  so  far  as  to  allow  her 
to  nurse  "  Rebbitzin,"  without  reminding  her  that  the  creat- 
ure's touch  would  make  her  forget  all  she  knew,  and  convert 
her  into  a  "  cat's-head."  And  certainly  Rachel  always  for- 
got not  to  touch  the  cat.  Possibly  the  basis  of  her  father's 
psychological  superstition  was  the  fact  that  the  cat  is  an 


FLUTTER-DUCK.  376 

unclean  animal,  not  to  be  handled,  for  he  would  not  touch 
puss  himself,  though  her  pious  title  of  "Rebbitzin,"  or 
Rabbi's  wife,  was  the  invention  of  this  master  of  nicknames. 
But  for  such  flashes  no  one  would  have  suspected  the  stern 
little  man  of  humour.  But  he  had  it  —  dry.  He  called 
the  cat  "  Rebbitzin  "  ever  since  the  day  she  refused  to 
drink  milk  after  meat.  Perhaps  she  was  gorged  with  the 
meat.  But  he  insisted  that  the  cat  had  caught  religion 
through  living  in  a  Jewish  family,  and  he  developed  a 
theory  that  she  would  not  eat  meat  till  it  was  kosher,  so 
that  in  its  earlier  stages  it  might  be  exposed  without  risk  of 
feline  larceny. 

Cats  are  soothing  to  infants,  but  they  ceased  to  satisfy 
Rachel  when  she  grew  up.  Her  education,  while  it  gratified 
Her  Majesty's  Inspectors,  was  not  calculated  to  eradicate 
the  domestic  rebel  in  her.  At  school  she  learnt  of  the 
existence  of  two  Hebrew  words,  called  Moudeh  ani,  but  it 
was  not  till  some  time  after  that  it  flashed  upon  her  that 
they  were  closely  related  to  Medidni,  and  the  discovery  did 
not  improve  her  opinion  of  her  mother.  She  was  a  bonny 
child,  who  promised  to  be  a  beautiful  girl,  and  her  teachers 
petted  her.  They  dressed  well,  these  teachers,  and  Rachel 
ceased  to  consider  Flutter- Duck's  Sabbath  shawl  the  stand- 
ard of  taste  and  splendour.  Ere  she  was  in  her  teens  she 
grumbled  at  her  home  surroundings,  and  even  fell  foul  of 
the  all-pervading  fur,  thereby  quarrelling  with  her  bread  and 
butter  in  more  senses  than  one.  She  would  open  the  win- 
dow —  strangely  fastidious  —  to  eat  her  bread  and  butter  off 
the  broad  ledge  outside  the  room,  but  often  the  fur  only 
came  flying  the  faster  to  the  spot,  as  if  in  search  of  air ;  and 
in  the  winter  her  pretentious  queasiness  set  everybody  re- 
monstrating and  shivering  in  the  sudden  draught. 

Her  objection  to  fur  did  not,  however,  embrace  the  prep- 


376  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

aration  of  it,  for  after  school  hours  the  little  girl  sat  patiently 
stitching  till  late  at  night,  by  way  of  apprenticeship  to  her 
future,  buoyed  up  by  her  earnings,  and  adding  strip  to  strip, 
with  the  hair  going  all  the  same  way,  till  she  had  made  a 
great  black  snake.  Of  course  she  did  not  get  anything 
near  three-halfpence  for  twelve  yards,  like  the  real  "  hands," 
but  whatever  she  earnt  went  towards  her  Festival  frocks, 
which  she  would  have  got  in  any  case.  Not  knowing  this, 
she  was  happy  to  deserve  the  pretty  dresses  she  loved,  and 
was  least  impatient  of  her  mother's  chatter  when  Flutter- 
Duck  dinned  into  her  ears  how  pretty  she  looked  in  them. 
Alas  !  it  is  to  be  feared  Lewis  was  right,  that  Flutter- 
Duck  was  a  rattle-brain  indeed.  And  the  years  which 
brought  Flutter-Duck  prosperity,  which  emancipated  her 
from  personal  participation  in  the  sewing,  and  gave  Rachel 
the  little  bedroom  to  herself,  did  not  bring  wisdom. 
When  Flutter-Duck's  felicity  culminated  in  a  maid-servant 
(If  only  one  who  slept  out),  she  was  like  a  child  with  a 
monkey-on-a-stick.  She  gave  the  servant  orders  merely  to 
see  her  arms  and  legs  moving.  She  also  lay  late  in  bed  to 
enjoy  the  spectacle  of  the  factotum  making  the  nine  o'clock 
coffee  it  had  been  for  so  many  years  her  own  duty  to  pre- 
pare for  the  "  hands."  How  sweetly  the  waft  of  chicory 
came  to  her  nostrils  !  At  first  her  husband  remonstrated. 

"  It  is  not  beautiful,"  he  said.  "  You  ought  to  get  up 
before  the  '  hands  '  come." 

Flutter-Duck  flushed  resentfully.  "  If  I  bin  a  missis,  I 
bin  a  missis,"  she  said  with  dignity.  It  became  one  of  her 
formulae.  When  the  servant  developed  insolence,  as  under 
Flutter- Duck's  fostering  familiarity  she  did,  Flutter-Duck 
would  resume  her  dignity  with  a  jerk. 

"  If  I  bin  a  missis,"  she  would  say,  tossing  her  flighty 
head  haughtily,  "I  bin  a  missis." 


FLUTTER-DUCK.  377 

CHAPTER   II. 

A   MIGRATORY   BIRD. 

"  There  strode  a  stranger  to  the  door, 
And  it  was  windy  weather." 

—  TENNYSON:    The  Goose. 

ONE  day,  when  Rachel  was  nineteen,  there  came  to  the 
workshop  a  handsome  young  man.  He  had  been  brought 
by  a  placard  in  the  window  of  the  chandler's  shop,  and  was 
found  to  answer  perfectly  to  its  wants.  He  took  his  place 
at  the  work-table,  and  soon  came  to  the  front  as  a  wage- 
earner,  wielding  a  dexterous  needle  that  rarely  snapped, 
even  in  white  fur.  His  name  was  Emanuel  Lefkovitch,  and 
his  seat  was  next  to  Rachel's.  For  Rachel  had  long  since 
entered  into  her  career,  and  the  beauty  of  her  early-blos- 
soming womanhood  was  bent  day  after  day  over  strips  of 
rabbit-skin,  which  she  made  into  sealskin  jackets.  For 
compensation  to  her  youth  Rachel  walked  out  on  the 
Sabbath  elegantly  attired  in  the  latest  fashion.  She  ordered 
her  own  frocks  now,  having  a  banking  account  of  her  own, 
in  a  tin  box  that  was  hidden  away  in  her  little  bedroom. 
Her  father  honourably  paid  her  a  wage  as  large  as  she 
would  have  got  elsewhere  —  otherwise  she  would  have  gone 
there.  Her  Sabbath  walks  extended  as  far  as  Hyde  Park, 
and  she  loved  to  watch  the  fine  ladies  cantering  in  the  Row, 
or  lolling  in  luxurious  carriages.  Sometimes  she  even 
peeped  into  fashionable  restaurants.  She  became  the  admir- 
ing disciple  of  a  girl  who  worked  at  a  Jewish  furrier's  in 
Regent  Street,  and  whose  occidental  habitat  gave  her  a  halo 
of  aristocracy.  Even  on  Friday  nights  Rachel  would  disap- 
pear from  the  sacred  domesticity  of  the  Sabbath  hearth,  and 


378  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

Flutter-Duck  suspected  that  she  went  to  the  Cambridge 
Music  Hall  in  Spitalfields.  This  led  to  dramatic  scenes, 
for  Rachel's  frowardness  had  not  decreased  with  age.  If 
she  had  only  gone  out  with  some  accredited  young  man, 
Flutter-Duck  could  have  borne  the  scandal  in  view  of  the 
joyous  prospect  of  becoming  a  grandmother.  But  no  ! 
Rachel  tolerated  no  matrimonial  advances,  not  even  from 
the  most  seductive  of  Shadchanim,  though  her  voluptuous 
figure  and  rosy  lips  marked  her  out  for  the  marriage- 
broker's  eye.  Her  father  had  grown  sterner  with  the 
growth  of  his  malady,  and  though  at  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  he  loved  and  was  proud  of  his  beautiful  Rachel,  the 
words  that  rose  to  his  lips  were  often  as  harsh  and  bitter  as 
Flutter-Duck's  own,  so  that  the  girl  would  withdraw  sullenly 
into  herself  and  hold  no  converse  with  her  parents  for  days. 
Nevertheless,  there  were  plenty  of  halcyon  intervals, 
especially  in  the  busy  season,  when  the  extra  shillings  made 
the  whole  work-room  brisk  and  happy,  and  the  furriers 
gossiped  of  this  and  that,  and  told  stories  more  droll  than 
decorous.  And  then,  too,  every  day  was  a  delightfully 
inevitable  sweep  towards  the  Sabbath,  and  every  Sabbath 
was  a  spoke  in  the  great  revolving  wheel  that  brought  round 
to  them  picturesque  Festivals,  or  solemn  Fasts,  scarcely  less 
enjoyable.  And  so  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  poetry 
below  the  sordid  prose  of  daily  life,  and  rifts  in  the  grey 
fog,  through  which  they  caught  glimpses  of  the  azure  vast- 
ness  overarching  the  world.  And  the  advent  of  Emanuel 
Lefkovitch  distinctly  lightened  the  atmosphere.  His  hand- 
some face,  his  gay  spirits,  were  like  an  influx  of  ozone. 
Rachel  was  perceptibly  the  brighter  for  his  presence.  She 
was  gentler  to  everybody,  even  to  her  parents,  and  chatted 
vivaciously,  and  walked  with  an  airier  step  !  The  sickly 
master-furrier's  face  lit  up  with  pleasure  as  from  his  sofa  he 


FL  UTTER-D  UCK.  379 

watched  Emanuel's  assiduous  attentions  to  his  girl  in  the 
way  of  picking  up  scissors  and  threading  needles,  and  he 
frowned  when  Flutter-Duck  hovered  about  the  young  man, 
chattering  and  monopolising  his  conversation. 

But  one  fine  morning,  some  months  after  Emanuel's 
arrival,  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  the  scene.  There 
was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  an  ugly,  shabby  woman,  in 
a  green  tartan  shawl,  entered.  She  scrutinised  the  room 
sharply,  then  uttered  a  joyful  cry  of  "  Emanuel,  my  love  !  " 
and  threw  herself  upon  the  handsome  young  man  with  an 
affectionate  embrace.  Emanuel,  flushed  and  paralysed,  was 
a  ludicrous  figure,  and  the  workers  tittered,  not  unfamiliar 
with  marital  contretemps. 

"  Let  me  be,"  he  said  sullenly  at  last,  as  he  untwined  her 
dogged  arms.  "  I  tell  you  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with 
you.  It's  no  use." 

"  Oh  no,  Emanuel,  love,  don't  say  that ;  not  after  all  these 
months?" 

"  Go  away  !  "  cried  Emanuel  hoarsely. 

"Be  not  so  obstinate,". she  persisted,  in  wheedling  accents, 
stroking  his  flaming  cheeks.  "  Kiss  little  Joshua  and  little 
Miriam." 

Here  the  spectators  became  aware  of  two  woe-begone 
infants  dragging  at  her  skirts. 

"  Go  away  !  "  repeated  Emanuel  passionately,  and  pushed 
her  from  him  with  violence. 

The  ugly,  shabby  woman  burst  into  hysterical  tears. 

"  My  own  husband,  dear  people,"  she  sobbed,  addressing 
the  room.  "  My  own  husband  —  married  to  me  in  Poland 
five  years  ago.  See,  I  have  the  Cesubah  !  "  She  half  drew 
the  marriage  parchment  from  her  bosom.  "  And  he  won't 
live  with  me  !  Every  time  he  runs  away  from  me.  Last 
time  I  saw  him  was  in  Liverpool,  on  the  eve  of  Tabernacles. 


380  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

And  before  that  I  had  to  go  and  find  him  in  Newcastle,  and 
he  promised  me  never  to  go  away  again  —  yes,  you  did,  you 
know  you  did,  Emanuel,  love.  And  here  have  I  been  look- 
ing weeks  for  you  at  all  the  furriers  and  tailors,  without 
bread  and  salt  for  the  children,  and  the  Board  of  Guardians 
won't  believe  me,  and  blame  me  for  coming  to  London. 
Oh,  Emanuel,  love,  God  shall  forgive  you." 

Her  dress  was  dishevelled,  her  wig  awry;  big  tears 
streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

"How  can  I  live  with  an  old  witch  like  that?"  asked 
Emanuel,  in  brutal  self-defence. 

"There  are  worse  than  me  in  the  world,"  rejoined  the 
woman  meekly. 

"  Nee,  nee,"  roughly  interposed  the  master-furrier,  who 
had  risen  from  his  sofa  in  the  excitement  of  the  scene.  "  It 
is  not  beautiful  not  to  live  with  one's  wife."  He  paused  to 
cough.  "  You  must  not  put  her  to  shame." 

"  It's  she  who  puts  me  to  shame."  Emanuel  turned  Jo 
Rachel,  who  had  let  her  work  slip  to  the  floor,  and  whose 
face  had  grown  white  and  stern,  and  continued  depre- 
catingly,  "  I  never  wanted  her.  They  caught  me  by  a 
trick." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,"  snapped  Rachel,  turning  her  back  on 
him. 

The  woman  looked  at  her  suspiciously  —  the  girl's  beauty 
seemed  to  burst  upon  her  for  the  first  time.  "  He  is  my 
husband,"  she  repeated,  and  made  as  if  she  would  draw  out 
the  Cesubah  again. 

"  Nee,  nee,  enough ! "  said  the  master-furrier  curtly. 
"  You  are  wasting  our  time.  Your  husband  shall  live  with 
you,  or  he  shall  not  work  with  me." 

"You  have  deceived  us,  you  rogue  !  "  put  in  Flutter-Duck 
shrilly. 


FL  UTTER-D  UCK.  381 

"  Did  I  ever  say  I  was  a  single  man  ?  "  retorted  Emanuel, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  There  !  He  confesses  it ! "  cried  his  wife  in  glee. 
"  Come,  Emanuel,  love,"  and  she  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  and  kissed  him  passionately.  "  Do  not  be  obstinate." 

"  I  can't  come  now,"  he  said,  with  sulky  facetiousness. 
"  Where  are  you  living?  " 

She  told  him,  and  he  said  he  would  come  when  work  was 
over. 

"On  your  faith?"  she  asked,  with  another  uneasy  glance 
at  Rachel. 

"  On  my  faith,"  he  answered. 

She  moved  towards  the  door,  with  her  draggle-tail  of 
infants.  As  she  was  vanishing,  he  called  shame-facedly  to 
the  departing  children,  — 

"  Well,  Joshua  !  Well,  Miriam  !  Is  this  the  way  one 
treats  a  father?  A  nice  way  your  mother  has  brought  you 
up  !  " 

They  came  back  to  him  dubiously,  with  unwashed,  pathetic 
faces,  and  he  kissed  them.  Rachel  bent  down  to  pick  up 
her  rabbit-skin.  Work  was  resumed  in  dead  silence. 


CHAPTER   III. 

FLIGHT. 

"The  goose  flew  this  way  and  flew  that, 
And  filled  the  house  with  clamour." 

—  TENNYSON:   The  Goose. 

FLUTTER-DUCK  could  not  resist  rushing  in  to  show  the 
gorgeous  goose  she  had  bought  from  a  man  in  the  street  — 
a  most  wonderful  bargain.  Although  it  was  only  a  Wednes- 


382  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

day,  why  should  they  not  have  a  goose  ?  They  were  at  the 
thick  of  the  busy  season,  and  the  winter  promised  to  be  bit- 
ter, so  they  could  afford  it. 

"  Nee,  nee ;  there  are  enough  Festivals  in  our  religion 
already,"  grumbled  her  husband,  who,  despite  his  hacking 
cough,  had  been  driven  to  the  work-table  by  the  plentifulness 
of  work  and  the  scarcity  of  "  hands." 

"  Almost  as  big  a  goose  as  herself !  "  whispered  Emanuel 
Lefkovitch  to  his  circle.  He  had  made  his  peace  with  his 
wife,  and  was  again  become  the  centre  of  the  work-room's 
gaiety.  "  What  a  bargain  !  "  he  said  aloud,  clucking  his 
tongue  with  admiration.  And  Flutter-Duck,  consoled  for 
her  husband's  criticism,  scurried  out  again  to  have  her  bar- 
gain killed  by  the  official  slaughterer. 

When  she  returned,  doleful  and  indignant,  with  the  goose 
still  in  her  basket,  and  the  news  that  the  functionary  had  re- 
fused it  Jewish  execution,  and  pronounced  it  tripha  (un- 
clean) for  some  minute  ritual  reason,  she  broke  off  her 
denunciation  of  the  vendor  from  a  sudden  perception  that 
some  graver  misfortune  had  happened  in  her  absence. 

"  Nee,  nee,"  said  Lewis,  when  she  stopped  her  chatter. 
"  Decidedly  God  will  not  have  us  make  Festival  to-day. 
Even  you  must  work." 

"  Me  ?  "  gasped  Flutter-Duck. 

Then  she  learnt  that  Emanuel  Lefkovitch,  whom  she  had 
left  so  gay,  had  been  taken  with  acute  pains  —  and  had  had 
to  go  home.  And  work  pressed,  and  Flutter- Duck  must 
under-study  him  in  all  her  spare  moments.  She  was  terribly 
vexed  —  she  had  arranged  to  go  and  see  an  old  crony's 
daughter  married  in  the  Synagogue  that  afternoon,  and  she 
would  have  to  give  that  up,  if  indeed  her  husband  did  not 
even  expect  her  to  give  up  the  ball  in  the  evening.  She 
temporarily  tethered  the  goose's  leg  to  a  bed-post  by  a  long 


FLUTTER-DUCK.  383 

string,  so  that  for  the  rest  of  the  day  the  big  bird  waddled 
pompously  about  the  floor  and  under  the  bed,  unconscious 
to  what  or  whom  it  owed  its  life,  and  blissfully  unaware  that 
it  was  tripha. 

"  Nee,  nee,"  sniggered  Lewis,  as  Flutter-Duck  savagely 
kicked  the  cat  out  of  her  way.  "  Don't  be  alarmed,  Reb- 
bitzin  won't  attack  it.  Rebbitzin  is  a  better  judge  of  triphas 
than  you." 

It  was  another  cat,  but  it  was  the  same  joke. 

Flutter-Duck  began  to  clean  the  fish  with  intensified 
viciousness.  She  had  bought  them  as  a  substitute  for  the 
goose,  and  they  were  a  constant  reminder  of  her  complex  ill- 
hap.  Very  soon  she  cut  her  finger,  and  scoured  the  walls 
vainly  in  search  of  cobweb  ligature.  Bitter  was  her  plaint 
of  the  servant's  mismanagement;  when  she  herself  had 
looked  after  the  house  there  had  been  no  lack  of  cobwebs 
in  the  corners.  Nor  was  this  the  end  of  Flutter-Duck's  mis- 
fortunes. When,  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  she  sent  up 
to  Mrs.  Levy  on  the  second  floor  to  remind  her  that  she 
would  be  wanting  her  embroidered  petticoat  for  the  evening, 
answer  came  back  that  it  was  the  anniversary  of  Mrs.  Levy's 
mother's  death,  and  she  could  not  permit  even  her  petticoat 
to  go  to  a  wedding.  Finally,  the  gloves  that  Flutter-Duck 
borrowed  from  the  chandler's  wife  were  split  at  the  thumbs. 
And  so  the  servant  was  kept  running  to  and  fro,  spoiling  the 
neighbours  for  the  greater  glory  of  Flutter-Duck.  It  was 
only  at  the  eleventh  hour  that  an  embroidered  petticoat  was 
obtained. 

Altogether  there  was  electricity  in  the  air,  and  Emanuel 
was  not  present  to  divert  it  down  the  rod  of  jocularity.  The 
furriers  stitched  sullenly,  with  a  presentiment  of  storm.  But 
it  held  over  all  day,  and  there  was  hope  the  currents  would 
pass  harmlessly  away. 


384  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

With  the  rising  of  Flutter-Duck  from  the  work-table, 
however,  the  first  rumblings  began.  Lewis  did  not  attempt 
to  restrain  her  from  her  society  dissipation,  but  he  fumed  in- 
wardly throughout  her  toilette.  More  than  ever  he  realised, 
as  he  sat  coughing  and  bending  over  the  ermine  he  was 
tufting  with  black  spots,  the  incompatibility  of  this  union 
between  ant  and  butterfly,  and  occasionally  his  thought  would 
shoot  out  in  dry  sarcasm.  But  Flutter-Duck  had  passed 
beyond  the  plane  in  which  Lewis  existed  as  her  husband. 
All  day  she  had  talked  freely,  if  a  whit  condescendingly,  to 
her  fellow-furriers,  lamenting  the  mischances  of  the  day ;  but 
in  proportion  as  she  began  to  get  clean  and  beautiful,  as  the 
muslins  of  the  great  mirror  became  a  frame  for  a  gorgeous 
picture  of  a  lady,  Flutter-Duck  grew  more  and  more  aloof 
from  workaday  interests,  felt  herself  borne  into  a  higher 
world  of  radiance  and  elegance,  into  a  rarefied  atmosphere 
of  gentility,  that  froze  her  to  statue-like  frigidity. 

She  was  not  Flutter-Duck  then. 

And  when  she  was  quite  dressed  for  the  wedding,  and 
had  put  on  the  earrings  with  the  coloured  stones  and  the 
crowning  glory  of  the  chignon  of  false  plaits,  stuck  over  with 
little  artificial  white  flowers,  the  female  neighbours  came 
crowding  into  the  work-room  boudoir  to  see  how  she  looked, 
and  she  revolved  silently  for  their  inspection  like  a  dress- 
maker's figure,  at  most  acknowledging  their  compliments 
with  monosyllables.  She  had  invited  them  to  come  and 
admire  her  appearance,  but  by  the  time  they  came  she  had 
grown  too  proud  to  speak  to  them.  Even  the  women  of 
whose  finery  she  wore  fragments,  and  who  had  contributed 
to  her  splendour,  seemed  to  her  poor  dingy  creatures,  whose 
contact  would  sully  her  embroidered  petticoat.  In  grotesque 
contrast  with  her  peacock-like  stateliness,  the  big  tripha 
goose  began  to  get  lively,  cackling  and  flapping  about  within 


FL  UTTER-D  UCK.  385 

its  radius,  as  if  the  soul  of  Flutter-Duck  had  passed  into  its 
body. 

The  moment  of  departure  had  come.  The  cab  stood 
at  the  street-door,  and  a  composite  crowd  stood  round  the 
cab.  In  the  Ghetto  a  cab  has  special  significance,  and 
Flutter-Duck  would  have  to  pass  to  hers  through  an  avenue 
of  polyglot  commentators.  At  the  last  moment,  adjusting 
her  fleecy  wrap  over  her  head  like  any  grande  dame  (from 
whom  she  differed  only  in  the  modesty  of  her  high  bodice 
and  her  full  sleeves),  Flutter-Duck  discovered  that  there 
was  a  great  rent  in  one  part  of  the  wrap  and  a  great  stain 
in  another.  She  uttered  an  exclamation  of  dismay — this 
seemed  to  her  the  climax  of  the  day's  misfortunes. 

"What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?"  she  cried,  her 
dignity  almost  melting  in  tears. 

The  by-standers  made  sympathetic  but  profitless  noises. 

"  Oh,  double  it  another  way,"  jerked  Rachel  from  the 
work-table.  "  Come  here,  I'll  do  it  for  you." 

"  Are  you  too  lazy  to  come  here  ?  "  replied  Flutter-Duck 
irritably.  Rachel  rose  and  went  towards  her,  and  rearranged 
the  wrap. 

"Oh  no,  that  won't  do,"  complained  Flutter- Duck, 
attitudinising  before  the  glass.  "  It  shows  as  bad  as  ever. 
Oh,  what  shall  I  do?" 

"  Do  you  know  what  I'll  tell  you  ? "  said  her  husband 
meditatively :  "  Don't  go  ! " 

Flutter-Duck  threw  him  a  fiery  look. 

"  Oh  well,"  said  Rachel,  shrugging  her  shoulders  and 
thrusting  forward  her  lip  contemptuously,  "it'll  have  to 
do." 

"  No,  it  won't  —  lend  me  your  pink  one." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  have  my  pink  one  dirtied,  too," 
grumbled  Rachel. 


386  FL  UTTER-D  UCK. 

"  Do  you  hear  what  I  say?"  exclaimed  Flutter-Duck,  with 
increasing  wrath.  "  Give  me  the  pink  wrap  !  When  the 
mother  says  is  said  ! "  And  she  looked  around  the  group 
of  spectators,  in  search  of  sympathy  with  her  trials  and 
admiration  for  her  maternal  dignity. 

"  I  can  never  keep  anything  for  myself,"  said  Rachel 
sullenly.  "  You  never  take  care  of  anything." 

"I  took  care  of  you,"  screamed  Flutter-Duck,  goaded 
beyond  endurance  by  the  thought  that  her  neighbours  were 
witnessing  this  filial  disrespect.  "  And  a  fat  lot  of  good  it's 
done  me." 

"  Yes,  much  care  you  take  of  me.  You  only  think  of 
enjoying  yourself.  It's  young  girls  who  ought  to  go  out, 
not  old  women." 

"  You  impudent  face  !  "  And  with  an  irresistible  impulse 
of  savagery,  a  reversion  to  the  days  of  Medidni,  Flutter- 
Duck  swung  round  her  arm,  and  struck  Rachel  violently 
on  the  cheek  with  her  white-gloved  hand. 

The  sound  of  the  slap  rang  hollow  and  awful  through  the 
room. 

The  workers  looked  up  and  paused,  the  neighbours  held 
their  breath ;  there  was  a  dread  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
hissings  of  the  excited  goose,  and  the  half  involuntary 
apologetic  murmurings  of  Flutter-Duck's  lips  :  "  If  I  bin 
a  mother,  I  bin  a  mother." 

For  an  instant  Rachel's  face  was  a  white  mask,  on  which 
five  fingers  stood  out  in  fire ;  the  next  it  was  one  burning 
mass  of  angry  blood.  She  clenched  her  fist,  as  if  about  to 
strike  her  mother,  then  let  the  fingers  relax ;  half  from 
a  relic  of  filial  awe,  half  from  respect  for  the  finery.  There 
was  a  peculiar  light  in  her  eyes.  Without  a  word  she  turned 
slowly  on  her  heel  and  walked  into  her  little  room,  emerging, 
after  an  instant  of  general  suspense,  with  the  pink  wrap  in 


388  FL  UTTER-D  UCK. 

her  hand.  She  gave  it  to  her  mother,  without  looking  at 
her,  and  walked  back  to  her  work,  and  poor  foolish  Flutter- 
Duck,  relieved,  triumphant,  and  with  an  irreproachable 
head-wrap,  passed  majestically  from  the  room,  amid  the 
buzz  of  the  neighbours  (who  accompanied  her  downstairs 
with  valedictory  brushings  of  fur-fluff  from  her  shoulders), 
through  the  avenue  of  polyglot  commentators,  into  the 
waiting  cab. 

All  this  time  Flutter-Duck's  husband  had  sat  petrified, 
but  now  a  great  burst  of  coughing  shook  him.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  say  or  do,  and  prolonged  the  cough  artificially 
to  cover  his  embarrassment.  Then  he  opened  his  mouth 
several  times,  but  shut  it  indecisively.  At  last  he  said 
soothingly,  with  kindly  clumsiness :  "  Nee,  nee ;  you 
shouldn't  irritate  the  mother,  Rachel.  You  know  what  she 
is." 

Rachel's  needle  plodded  on,  and  the  uneasy  silence 
resumed  its  sway. 

Presently  Rachel  rose,  put  down  her  piece  of  work 
finished,  and  without  a  word  passed  back  to  her  bedroom, 
her  beautiful  figure  erect  and  haughty.  Lewis  heard  her 
key  turn  in  the  lock.  The  hours  passed,  and  she  did  not 
return.  Her  father  did  not  like  to  appear  anxious  before 
the  "  hands,"  but  he  had  a  discomforting  vision  of  her  lying 
on  her  bed,  in  a  dumb  agony  of  shame  and  rage.  At  last 
eight  o'clock  struck,  and,  backward  as  the  work  was,  Lewis 
did  not  suggest  overtime.  He  even  dismissed  the  servant 
an  hour  before  her  time.  He  was  in  a  fever  of  impatience, 
but  delicacy  had  kept  him  from  intruding  on  his  daughter's 
grief  before  strangers.  Now  he  hastened  to  her  door,  and 
knocked  timidly,  then  loudly. 

"  Nee,  nee,  Rachel,"  he  cried,  with  sympathetic  sternness, 
"  Enough  ! " 


FLUTTER-DUCK.  389 

But  a  chill  silence  alone  answered  him. 

He  burst  open  the  rickety  door,  and  saw  a  dark  mass 
huddled  up  in  the  shadow  on  the  bed.  A  nearer  glance 
showed  him  it  was  only  clothes.  He  opened  the  door  that 
led  on  to  Jacob's  ladder,  and  called  her  name.  Then  by 
the  light  streaming  in  from  the  other  apartment  he  hastily 
examined  the  room.  It  was  obvious  that  she  had  put  on 
her  best  clothes,  and  gone  out. 

Half  relieved,  he  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  leaving  the 
door  ajar,  and  recited  his  evening  prayer.  Then  he  began 
to  prepare  a  little  meal  for  himself,  telling  himself  that  she 
had  gone  for  a  walk,  after  her  manner ;  perhaps  was  shaking 
off  her  depression  at  the  Cambridge  Music  Hall.  Supper 
over  and  grace  said,  he  started  doing  the  overwork,  and 
then,  when  sheer  weariness  forced  him  to  stop,  he  drew  his 
comfortless  wooden  chair  to  the  kitchen  fire,  and  studied 
Rabbinical  lore  from  a  minutely  printed  folio. 

The  Whitechapel  Church  clock,  suddenly  booming  mid- 
night, awoke  him  from  these  sacred  subtleties  with  a  start 
of  alarm.  Rachel  had  not  returned. 

The  fire  burnt  low.  He  shivered,  and  threw  on  some 
coal.  Half  an  hour  more  he  waited,  listening  for  her  foot- 
step. Surely  the  music-hall  must  be  closed  by  now.  He 
crept  down  the  stairs,  and  wandered  vaguely  into  the  cold, 
starless  night,  jostled  by  leering  females,  and  returned  for- 
lorn and  coughing.  Then  the  thought  flashed  upon  him 
that  his  girl  had  gone  to  her  mother,  had  gone  to  fetch  her 
from  the  wedding  ball,  and  to  make  it  up  with  her.  Yes ; 
that  would  be  it.  Hence  the  best  clothes.  It  could  be 
nothing  else.  He  must  not  let  any  other  thought  get  a  hold 
on  his  mind.  He  would  have  run  round  to  the  festive  scene, 
only  he  did  not  know  precisely  where  it  was,  and  it  was  too 
late  to  ask  the  neighbours. 


390  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

One  o'clock  ! 

A  mournful  monotone,  stern  in  its  absoluteness,  like  the 
clang  of  a  gate  shutting  out  a  lost  soul. 

One  more  hour  of  aching  suspense,  scarcely  dulled  by  the 
task  of  making  hot  coffee,  and  cutting  bread  and  butter  for  his 
returning  womankind ;  then  Flutter-Duck  came  back.  Alone  ! 

Came  back  in  her  cab,  her  fading  features  flushed  with 
the  joy  of  life,  with  the  artificial  flowers  in  her  false  chignon, 
and  the  pink  wrap  over  her  head. 

"Where  is  Rachel?"  gasped  poor  Lewis,  meeting  her  at 
the  street-door. 

"Rachel !  isn't  she  here?  I  left  her  with  you,"  answered 
Flutter-Duck,  half  sobered. 

"Merciful  God!"  ejaculated  her  husband,  and  put  his 
hand  to  his  breast,  pierced  by  a  shooting  pain. 

"  I  left  her  with  you,"  repeated  Flutter-Duck  with  white 
lips.  "  Why  did  you  let  her  go  out  ?  Why  didn't  you  look 
after  her?" 

"  Silence,  you  sinful  mother ! "  cried  Lewis.  "  You 
shamed  her  before  strangers,  and  she  has  gone  out  —  tc 
drown  herself — what  do  I  know?" 

Flutter- Duck  burst  into  hysterical  sobbing. 

"  Yes,  take  her  part  against  me  !  You  always  make  me 
out  wrong." 

"  Restrain  yourself !  "  he  whispered  imperiously.  "  Do 
you  wish  to  have  the  neighbours  hear  you  again?" 

"  I  daresay  she's  only  hiding  somewhere,  sulking,  as  she 
did  when  a  child,"  said  Flutter- Duck.  "  Have  you  looked 
under  the  bed?  " 

Foolish  as  he  knew  her  words  were,  they  gave  him  a  gleam 
of  hope.  He  led  the  way  upstairs  without  answering,  and 
taking  a  candle,  examined  her  bedroom  again  with  ludicrous 
minuteness.  This  time  the  sight  of  her  old  clothes  was 


FL  UTTER-D  UCK.  391 

comforting ;  if  she  had  wanted  to  drown  herself,  she  would 
not  —  he  reasoned  with  perhaps  too  masculine  a  logic  — 
have  taken  her  best  clothes  to  spoil.  With  a  sudden  thought 
he  displaced  the  hearthstone.  He  had  early  discovered 
where  she  kept  her  savings,  though  he  had  neither  tampered 
with  them  nor  betrayed  his  knowledge.  The  tin  box  was 
broken  open,  empty  !  In  the  drawers  there  was  not  a  single 
article  of  her  jewellery.  Rachel  had  evidently  left  home  ! 
She  had  gone  by  way  of  Jacob's  ladder  —  secretly. 

Prostrated  by  the  discovery,  the  parents  sat  down  in  help- 
less silence.  Then  Flutter-Duck  began  to  wring  her  white- 
gloved  hands,  and  to  babble  incoherent  suggestions  and 
reproaches,  and  protestations  that  she  was  not  to  blame. 
The  hot  coffee  cooled  untasted,  the  pink  wrap  lay  crumpled 
on  the  floor. 

Lewis  revolved  the  situation  rapidly.  What  could  be 
done  ?  Evidently  nothing  —  for  that  night  at  least.  Even 
the  police  could  do  nothing  till  the  morning,  and  to  call 
them  in  at  all  would  be  to  publish  the  scandal  to  the  whole 
world.  Rachel  had  gone  to  some  lodging  —  there  could  be 
no  doubt  about  that.  And  yet  he  could  not  go  to  bed,  his 
heart  still  expected  her,  though  his  brain  had  given  up  hope. 
He  walked  about  restlessly,  racked  by  fits  of  coughing,  then 
he  dropped  back  into  his  seat  before  the  decaying  fire.  And 
Flutter-Duck,  frightened  into  silence  at  last,  sat  on  the  sofa, 
dazed,  in  her  trappings  and  gewgaws,  with  the  white  flowers 
glistening  in  her  false  hair,  and  her  pallid  cheeks  stained 
with  tears. 

And  so  they  waited  in  the  uncouth  room  in  the  solemn 
watches  of  the  night,  pricking  up  their  ears  at  a  rare  footstep 
in  the  street,  and  hastening  to  peep  out  of  the  window ; 
waiting  for  the  knock  that  came  not,  and  the  dawn  that  was 
distant.  The  silence  lay  upon  them  like  a  pall. 


392  FL  UTTER-D  UCK. 

Suddenly,  in  the  weird  stillness,  they  heard  a  fluttering 
and  a  skurrying,  and,  looking  up,  they  saw  a  great  white 
thing  floating  through  the  room.  Flutter-Duck  uttered  a 
terrible  cry.  "  Hear,  O  Israel !  "  she  shrieked. 

"  Nee,  nee,"  said  Lewis  reassuringly,  though  scarcely  less 
startled.  "  It  is  only  the  tripha  goose  got  loose." 

"  Nay,  nay,  it  is  the  Devil !  "  hoarsely  whispered  Flutter- 
Duck,  who  had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  was 
shaking  as  with  palsy. 

Her  terror  communicated  itself  to  her  husband.  "Hush, 
hush  !  Talk  not  so,"  he  said,  shivering  with  indefinable  awe. 

"  Say  psalms,  say  psalms  ! "  panted  Flutter-Duck.  "  Drive 
him  out." 

Lewis  opened  the  window,  but  the  unclean  bird  showed  no 
desire  to  flit.  It  was  evidently  the  Not-Good-One  himself. 

"  Hear,  O  Israel !  "  wailed  Flutter- Duck.  "  Since  he  came 
in  this  morning  everything  has  been  upside  down." 

The  goose  chuckled. 

Lewis  was  seized  with  a  fell  terror  that  gave  him  a  mad 
courage.  Murmuring  a  holy  phrase,  he  grabbed  at  the 
goose,  which  eluded  him,  and  fluttered  flappingly  hither  and 
thither.  Lewis  gave  chase,  his  lips  praying  mechanically. 
At  last  he  caught  it  by  a  wing,  haled  it,  hissing  and  struggling 
and  uttering  rasping  cries,  to  the  window,  flung  it  without, 
and  closed  the  sash  with  a  bang.  Then  he  fell  impotent 
against  the  work-table,  and  spat  out  a  mouthful  of  blood. 

"  God  be  praised  !  "  said  Flutter-Duck,  slowly  uncovering 
her  eyes.  "  Now  Rachel  will  come  back." 

And  with  renewed  hope  they  waited  on,  and  the  deathly 
silence  again  possessed  the  room. 

All  at  once  they  heard  a  light  step  under  the  window; 
the  father  threw  it  open  and  saw  a  female  form  outlined  in 
the  darkness.  There  was  a  rat-tat-tat  at  the  door. 


FLUTTER-DUCK.  393 

"  Ah,  there  she  is  ! "  hysterically  ejaculated  Flutter-Duck, 
starting  up. 

"  The  Holy  One  be  blessed  !  "  cried  Lewis,  rushing  down 
the  stairs. 

A  strange  figure,  the  head  covered  by  a  green  tartan 
shawl,  greeted  him.  A  cold  ague  passed  over  his  limbs. 

"  Thank  God,  it's  all  right,"  said  Mrs.  Lefkovitch.  "  I 
see  from  your  light  you  are  still  working ;  but  isn't  it  time 
my  Emanuel  left  off?" 

"  Your  Emanuel?"  gasped  Lewis,  with  a  terrible  suspicion. 
"  He  went  home  early  in  the  day ;  he  was  taken  ill." 

Flutter- Duck,  who  had  crept  at  his  heels  bearing  a  candle, 
cried  out,  "  God  in  Israel !  She  has  flown  away  with 
Emanuel." 

"  Hush,  you  piece  of  folly  !  "  whispered  Lewis  furiously. 

"  Yes,  it  was  already  arranged,  and  you  blamed  me  ! " 
gasped  Flutter-Duck,  with  a  last  instinct  of  self-defence  ere 
consciousness  left  her,  and  she  fell  forward. 

"  Silence,"  Lewis  began,  but  there  was  an  awful  desolation 
at  his  heart  and  the  salt  of  blood  was  in  his  mouth  as  he 
caught  the  falling  form.  The  candlestick  rolled  to  the 
ground,  and  the  group  was  left  in  the  heavy  shadows  of  the 
staircase  and  the  cold  blast  from  the  open  door. 

"  God  have  mercy  on  me  and  the  poor  children  !  I  knew 
all  along  it  would  come  to  that ! "  wailed  Emanuel's  wife. 

"And  I  advanced  him  his  week's  money  on  Monday," 
Lewis  remembered  in  the  agony  of  the  moment. 


394  FL  UTTER-D  UCK. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

POOR   FLUTTER-DUCK. 

"  Her  cap  blew  off,  her  gown  blew  up, 
And  a  whirlwind  cleared  the  larder." 

—  TENNYSON:    The  Goose. 

IT  was  New  Year's  Eve. 

In  the  Ghetto,  where  "  the  evening  and  the  morning  are 
one  day,"  New  Year's  Eve  is  at  its  height  at  noon.  The 
muddy  market-places  roar,  and  the  joyous  medley  of 
squeezing  humanity  moves  slowly  through  the  crush  of 
mongers,  pickpockets,  and  beggars.  It  is  one  of  those 
festival  occasions  on  which  even  those  who  have  migrated 
from  the  Ghetto  gravitate  back  to  purchase  those  dainties 
whereof  the  heathen  have  not  the  secret,  and  to  look  again 
upon  the  old  familiar  scene.  There  is  a  stir  of  good-will 
and  gaiety,  a  reconciliation  of  old  feuds  in  view  of  the 
solemn  season  of  repentance,  and  a  washing-down  of  enmi- 
ties in  rum. 

At  the  point  where  the  two  main  market-streets  met,  a 
grey-haired  elderly  woman  stood  and  begged. 

Poor  Flutter- Duck  ! 

Her  husband  dead,  after  a  protracted  illness  that  frittered 
away  his  savings ;  her  daughter  lost ;  her  home  a  mattress 
in  the  corner  of  a  strange  family's  garret ;  her  faded  pretti- 
ness  turned  to  ugliness  :  her  figure  thin  and  wasted ;  her 
yellow-wrinkled  face  framed  in  a  frowsy  shawl ;  her  clothes 
tattered  and  flimsy  ;  Flutter-Duck  stood  and  schnorred. 

But  Flutter- Duck  did  not  do  well.  Her  feather-head 
was  not  equal  to  the  demands  of  her  profession.  She  had 
selected  what  was  ostensibly  the  coign  of  most  vantage, 


MARKET-DAY   IN   THE  GHETTO. 


396  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

forgetting  that  though  everybody  in  the  market  must  pass 
her  station,  they  would  already  have  been  mulcted  in  the 
one  street  or  the  other. 

But  she  held  out  her  hand  pertinaciously,  appealing  to 
every  passer-by  of  importance,  and  throwing  audible  curses 
after  those  that  ignored  her.  The  cold  of  the  bleak  autumn 
day  and  the  apathy  of  the  public  chilled  her  to  the  bone  ; 
the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  thought  of  all  her  misery 
and  of  the  happy  time  —  only  a  couple  of  years  ago  —  when 
New  Year  meant  new  dresses.  Only  a  grey  fringe  —  the 
last  vanity  of  pauperdom  —  remained  of  all  her  fashion- 
ableness.  No  more  the  plaited  chignon,  the  silk  gown,  the 
triple  necklace,  —  the  dazzling  exterior  that  made  her  too 
proud  to  speak  to  admiring  neighbours,  —  only  hunger  and 
cold  and  mockery  and  loneliness.  No  plumes  could  she 
borrow,  now  that  she  really  needed  them  to  cover  her 
nakedness.  She  who  had  reigned  over  a  work-room,  who 
had  owned  a  husband  and  a  marriageable  daughter,  who  had 
commanded  a  maid-servant,  who  had  driven  in  shilling  cabs  ! 

Oh,  if  she  could  only  find  her  daughter  —  that  lost  creat- 
ure by  whose  wedding-canopy  she  should  have  stood,  radiant, 
the  envy  of  Montague  Street !  But  this  was  not  a  thought  of 
to-day.  It  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  her  thoughts  always,  ever 
since  that  fatal  night.  During  the  first  year  she  was  always 
on  the  lookout,  peering  into  every  woman's  face,  running  after 
every  young  couple  that  looked  like  Emanuel  and  Rachel. 
But  repeated  disappointment  dulled  her.  She  had  no  energy 
for  anything  except  begging.  Yet  the  hope  of  finding  Rachel 
was  the  gleam  of  idealism  that  kept  her  soul  alive. 

The  hours  went  by,  but  the  streams  of  motley  pedestrians 
and  the  babel  of  vociferous  vendors  and  chattering  buyers 
did  not  slacken.  Females  were  in  the  great  majority, 
housewives  from  far  and  near  foraging  for  Festival  supplies. 


FLUTTER-DUCK.  397 

In  vain  Flutter-Duck  wished  them  "  A  Good  Sealing."  It 
seemed  as  if  her  own  Festival  would  be  black  and  bitter  as 
the  Feast  of  Ab. 

But  she  continued  to  hold  out  her  bloodless  hand. 
Towards  three  o'clock  a  fine  English  lady,  in  a  bonnet, 
passed  by,  carrying  a  leather  bag. 

"  Grant  me  a  halfpenny,  lady,  dear  !  May  you  be  written 
down  for  a  good  year  !  " 

The  beautiful  lady  paused,  startled.  Then  Flutter- 
Duck's  heart  gave  a  great  leap  of  joy.  The  impossible  had 
happened  at  last.  Behind  the  veil  shone  the  face  of  Rachel 
—  a  face  of  astonishment  and  horror. 

"  Rachel !  "  she  shrieked,  tottering. 

"Mother!"  cried  Rachel,  catching  her  by  the  arm. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here?  What  has  happened?" 

"  Do  not  touch  me,  sinful  girl ! "  answered  Flutter- 
Duck,  shaking  her  off  with  a  tragic  passion  that  gave  dignity 
to  the  grotesque  figure.  Now  that  Rachel  was  there  in  the 
flesh,  the  remembrance  of  her  shame  surged  up,  drowning 
everything.  "You  have  disgraced  the  mother  who  bore 
you  and  the  father  who  gave  you  life." 

The  fine  English  lady — her  whole  soul  full  of  sudden 
remorse  at  the  sight  of  her  mother's  incredible  poverty, 
shrank  before  the  blazing  eyes.  The  passers-by  imagined 
Rachel  had  refused  the  beggar-woman  alms. 

"  What  have  I  done?"  she  faltered. 

"  Where  is  Emanuel  ?  " 

"  Emanuel ! "  repeated  Rachel,  puzzled. 

"Emanuel  Lefkovitch  that  you  ran  away  with." 

"  Mother,  are  you  mad  ?  I  have  never  seen  him.  I  am 
married." 

"  Married  !  "  gasped  Flutter-Duck  ecstatically.  Then  a 
new  dread  rose  to  her  mind.  "To  a  Christian? " 


398  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

"  Me  marry  a  Christian  !     The  idea  !  " 

Flutter-Duck  fell  a-sobbing  on  the  fine  lady's  fur  jacket. 
"  And  you  never  ran  away  with  Lefkovitch?  " 

"  Me  take  another  woman's  leavings  ?  Well,  upon  my 
word  !  " 

"Oh,"  sobbed  Flutter- Duck.  "  Oh,  if  your  father  could 
only  have  lived  to  know  the  truth  ! " 

Rachel's  remorse  became  heartrending.  "  Is  father 
dead?"  she  murmured  with  white  lips.  After  awhile  she 
drew  her  mother  out  of  the  babel,  and  giving  her  the  bag 
to  carry  to  save  appearances,  she  walked  slowly  towards 
Liverpool  Street,  and  took  train  with  her  for  her  pretty  little 
cottage  near  Epping  Forest. 

Rachel's  story  was  as  simple  as  her  mother's.  After  the 
showing  up  of  Emanuel's  duplicity,  home  had  no  longer  the 
least  attraction  for  her.  Her  nascent  love  for  the  migratory 
husband  changed  to  a  loathing  that  embraced  the  whole 
Ghetto  in  which  such  things  were  possible.  Weary  of 
Flutter-Duck's  follies,  indifferent  to  her  father,  she  had  long 
meditated  joining  her  West-end  girl-friend  in  the  fur  estab- 
lishment in  Regent  Street,  but  the  blow  precipitated  matters. 
She  felt  she  could  not  remain  a  night  more  under  her 
mother's  roof,  and  her  father's  clumsy  comment  was  but  salt 
on  her  wound.  Her  heart  was  hard  against  both ;  month 
after  month  passed  before  her  passionate,  sullen  nature  would 
let  her  dwell  on  the  thought  of  their  trouble,  and  even  then 
she  felt  that  the  motive  of  her  flight  was  so  plain  that  they 
would  feel  only  remorse,  not  anxiety.  They  knew  she 
could  always  earn  her  living,  just  as  she  knew  they  could 
always  earn  theirs.  Living  "  in,"  and  going  out  but  rarely, 
and  then  in  the  fashionable  districts,  she  never  met  any  drift 
from  the  Ghetto,  and  the  busy  life  of  the  populous  establish- 
ment soon  effaced  the  old,  which  faded  to  a  forgotten  dream. 


FLUTTER-DUCK.  399 

One  day  the  chief  provincial  traveller  of  the  house  saw  her, 
fell  in  love,  married  her,  and  took  her  about  the  country 
for  six  months.  He  was  coming  back  to  her  that  very 
evening  for  the  New  Year.  She  had  gone  back  to  the 
Ghetto  that  day  to  buy  New  Year  honey,  and,  softened  by 
time  and  happiness,  rather  hoped  to  stumble  across  her 
mother  in  the  market-place,  and  so  save  the  submission  of 
a  call.  She  never  dreamed  of  death  and  poverty.  She 
would  not  blame  herself  for  her  father's  death  —  he  had 
always  been  consumptive  —  but  since  death  was  come  at  last, 
it  was  lucky  she  could  offer  her  mother  a  home.  Her  hus- 
band would  be  delighted  to  find  a  companion  for  his  wife 
during  his  country  rounds. 

"So  you  see,  mother,  everything  is  for  the  best." 

Flutter-Duck  listened  in  a  delicious  daze. 

What !  Was  everything  then  to  end  happily  after  all? 
Was  she  —  the  shabby  old  starveling  —  to  be  restored  to 
comfort  and  fine  clothes  ?  Her  brain  seemed  bursting  with 
the  thought  of  so  much  happiness ;  as  the  train  flew  along 
past  green  grass  and  autumn-tinted  foliage,  she  strove  to 
articulate  a  prayer  of  gratitude  to  Heaven,  but  she  only 
mumbled  "  Mediant"  and  lapsed  into  silence.  And  then, 
suddenly  remembering  she  had  started  a  prayer  and  must 
finish  it,  she  murmured  again  " Medidni" 

When  they  came  to  the  grand  house  with  the  front  garden, 
and  were  admitted  by  a  surprised  maid-servant,  infinitely 
nattier  than  any  Flutter-Duck  had  ever  ruled  over,  the  poor 
creature  was  palsied  with  excess  of  bliss.  The  fire  was 
blazing  merrily  in  the  luxurious  parlour :  could  this  haven 
of  peace  and  pomp  —  these  arm-chairs,  those  vases,  that 
side-board  —  be  really  for  her?  Was  she  to  spend  her  New 
Year's  night  surrounded  by  love  and  luxury,  instead  of 
huddling  in  the  corner  of  a  cold  garret  ? 


400  FLUTTER-DUCK. 

And  as  soon  as  Rachel  had  got  her  mother  installed  in 
a  wonderful  easy-chair,  she  hastened  with  all  the  eagerness 
of  maternal  pride,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  remorse,  to 
throw  open  the  folding-doors  that  led  to  her  bedroom,  so  as 
to  give  Flutter- Duck  the  crowning  surprise  —  the  secret  tit- 
bit she  had  reserved  for  the  grand  climax. 

"  There's  a  fine  boy  !  "  she  cried. 

And  as  Flutter-Duck  caught  sight  of  the  little  red  face 
peeping  out  from  the  snowy  draperies  of  the  cradle,  a  rapt- 
ure too  great  to  bear  seemed  almost  to  snap  something 
within  her  foolish,  overwrought  brain. 

"  I  have  already  a  grandchild  ! "  she  shrieked,  with  a 
great  sob  of  ecstasy ;  and,  running  to  the  cradle-side,  she 
fell  on  her  knees,  and  covered  the  little  red  face  with  frantic 
kisses,  repeating  "  Lewis  love,  Lewis  love,  Lewis  love,"  till 
the  babe  screamed,  and  Rachel  had  to  tear  the  babbling 
creature  away. 

You  may  see  her  almost  any  day  walking  in  the  Ghetto 
market-place  —  a  meagre,  old  figure,  with  a  sharp-featured 
face  and  a  plaited  chignon.  She  dresses  richly  in  silk,  and 
her  golden  earrings  are  set  with  coloured  stones,  and  her 
bonnet  is  of  the  latest  fashion.  She  lives  near  Epping 
Forest,  and  almost  always  goes  home  to  tea.  Sometimes 
she  stands  still  at  the  point  where  the  two  market  streets 
meet,  extending  vacantly  a  gloved  hand,  but  for  the  most 
part  she  wanders  about  the  by-streets  and  alleys  of  White- 
chapel  with  an  anxious  countenance,  peering  at  every 
woman  she  meets,  and  following  every  young  couple.  "  If 
I  could  only  find  her  !  "  she  thinks  yearningly. 

Nobody  knows  whom  she  is  looking  for,  but  everybody 
knows  she  is  only  "  Flutter-Duck." 


MACMILLAN'S  DOLLAR  SERIES 

OF 

WORKS   BY    POPULAR  AUTHORS. 

Crown  8vo.     Cloth  extra.     $1.00  each. 


BY  F.  MARION   CRAWFORD. 

With  the  solitary  exception  of  Mrs.  Oliphant,  we  have  no  living  novelist  more  distin- 
guished for  variety  of  theme  and  range  of  imaginative  outlook  than  Mr.  Marion  Craw- 
ford. —  Spectator.  ' 


THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    KING. 

DON  ORSINO. 

MR.  ISAACS:  A  Tale  of  Modern  India. 

DR.  CLAUDIUS:  A  True  Story. 

ZOROASTER. 

A  TALE  OF  A  LONELY  PARISH. 

SARACINESCA.     A  New  Novel. 

MARZIO'S  CRUCIFIX. 


WITH  THE  IMMORTALS. 
GREIFENSTEIN. 
SANT'  ILARIO. 

A  CIGARETTE-MAKER'S  ROMANCE. 
KHALED:  A  Tale  of  Arabia. 
THE  WITCH  OF  PRAGUE.     With  nu- 
merous Illustrations  by  W.  J.  HKNNESSY. 
THE  THREE  FATES. 


BY  CHARLES   DICKENS. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  better  edition  of  Dickens  at  the  price  than  that  which 
is  now  appearing  in  Macmillan's  Series  of  Dollar  Novels.  —  Boston  Beacon. 


THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS.    50  Illustra- 
tions.    (Ready.) 

OLIVER  TWIST.     27  Illustrations. 
(Ready.) 

NICHOLAS   NICKLEBY.     44  Illustra- 
tions.    (Ready.) 

MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT.     41  Illustra- 
tions.    (Ready.) 

THE    OLD    CURIOSITY    SHOP.     97 
Illustrations.     (Ready.) 


BARNABY    RUDGE.      76   Illustrations. 

(Ready.) 
SKETCHES   BY  BOZ.     44  Illustrations. 

(Ready.) 
DOM  BEY   AND   SON.     40  Illustrations. 

(Ready.) 
CHRISTMAS  BOOKS.    65  Illustrations. 

(December.) 
DAVID    COPPERFIELD.      41   Illustra- 

tions.     (January.) 


AMERICAN  NOTES,  AND  PICTURES  FROM  ITALY.    4  Illustrations.     (Ftb.) 


BY  CHARLES   KINGSLEY. 


ALTON  LOCKE. 
HEREWARD. 
HEROES. 
WESTWARD  HO! 


HYPATIA. 

TWO  YEARS  AGO. 

WATER  BABIES.     Illustrated. 

YEAST. 


BY   HENRY  JAMES. 


He  has  the  power  of  seeing  with  the  artistic  perception  of  the  few,  and  of  writing 
about  what  he  has  seen,  so  that  the  many  can  understand  and  feel  with  him.  —  Saturday 
Re-view. 


THE     LESSON    OF    THE     MASTER 

AND  OTHER  STORIES. 
THE  REVERBERATOR. 


THE  ASPEN   PAPERS  AND  OTHER 

STORIES. 
A  LONDON  LIFE. 


BY  ANNIE   KEARY. 


In  our  opinion  there  have  not  been  many  novels  published  better  worth  reading.  The 
literary  workmanship  is  excellent,  and  all  the  windings  of  the  stories  are  worked  with 
patient  fulness  and  a  skill  not  often  found.  —  Spectator. 


JANET'S  HOME. 
CLEMENCY  FRANKLYN. 


A  DOUBTING  HEART. 
THE  HEROES  OF  ASGARD. 


A  YORK  AND  LANCASTER   ROSE. 


BY  D.  CHRISTIE   MURRAY. 


Few  modern  novelists  can  tell 
Christie  Murray.  —  Spectator. 

AUNT  RACHEL. 


story  of  English  country  life  better  than  Mr.  D. 


|  THE  WEAKER  VESSEL. 
SCHWARZ. 


BY   MRS.   OLIPHANT. 

Has  the  charm  of  style,  the  literary  quality  and  flavour  that  never  fails  to  please.  — 
Saturday  Review. 

At  her  best  she  is,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  the  best  of  living  English  novelists.  — 
Academy. 


A  SON  OF  THE  SOIL.     New  Edition. 
THE   CURATE    IN    CHARGE.     New 

Edition. 

YOUNG  MUSGRAVE.    New  Edition. 
HE    THAT    WILL   NOT   WHEN    HE 

MAY.     New  and  Cheaper  Edition. 
SIR  TOM.     New  Edition. 
HESTER.   A  Story  of  Contemporary  Life. 


THE  WIZARD'S  SON.     New  Edition. 
A     COUNTRY     GENTLEMAN     AND 

HIS  FAMILY.     New  Edition. 
NEIGHBOURS     ON     THE     GREEN. 

New  Edition. 
AGNES  HOPETOUN'S  SCHOOLS  AND 

HOLIDAYS.     With  Illustrations. 


BY  J.   H.  SHORTHOUSE. 

Powerful,  striking,  and  fascinating  romances.  —  Anti-Jacobin. 


BLANCHE,  LADY  FALAISE. 
JOHN  INGLESANT. 
SIR  PERCIVAL. 


THE  COUNTESS  EVE. 
A  TEACHER  OF  THE  VIOLIN. 
THE    LITTLE    SCHOOLMASTER 
MARK. 


BY   MRS.   CRAIK. 

(The  Author  of  "John  Halifax,  Gentleman.") 

LITTLE  SUNSHINE'S  HOLIDAY.         I  ALICE  LEARMONT. 
ADVENTURES  OF  A  BROWNIE.          |  OUR  YEAR. 

BY   MRS.  HUMPHRY  WARD. 

Mrs.  Ward,  with  her  "  Robert  Elsmere  "  and  "  David  Grieve,"  has  established  with 
extraordinary  rapidity  an  enduring  reputation  as  one  who  has  expressed  what  is  deepest 
and  most  real  in  the  thought  of  the  time.  .  .  .  They  are  dramas  of  the  time  vitalized 
by  the  hopes,  fears,  doubts,  and  despairing  struggles  after  higher  ideals  which  are  sway- 
ing the  minds  of  men  and  women  of  this  generation.  —  New  York  Tribune. 

ROBERT  ELSMERE.  |  THE  HISTORY  OF  DAVID  GRIEVE. 

MILLY  AND  OLLY. 

BY   RUDYARD   KIPLING. 

Every  one  knows  that  it  is  not  easy  to  write  good  short  stories.  Mr.  Kipling  has 
changed  all  that.  Here  are  forty  of  them,  averaging  less  than  eight  pages  apiece  ;  there 
is  not  a  dull  one  in  the  lot.  Some  are  tragedy,  some  broad  comedy,  some  tolerably  sharp 
satire.  The  time  has  passed  to  ignore  or  undervalue  Mr.  Kipling.  He  has  won  his  spurs 
and  taken  his  prominent  place  in  the  arena.  This,  as  the  legitimate  edition,  should  be 
preferred  to  the  pirated  ones  by  all  such  as  care  for  honesty  in  letters.  —  Churchman, 
New  York. 

PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS.     I  LIFE'S  HANDICAP. 


BY  AMY   LEVY. 

REUBEN  SACHS. 


BY   M.   McLENNAN. 

MUCKLE  JOCK,  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 
3 


BY  THOMAS   HUGHES. 


TOM    BROWN'S    SCHOOLDAYS.          I  RUGBY,  TENNESSEE. 
Illustrated. 


BY  ROLF  BOLDREWOOD. 

Mr.  Boldrewood  can  tell  what  he  knows  with  great  point  and  vigour,  and  there  is  no 
better  reading  than  the  adventurous  parts  of  his  books.  —  Saturday  Review. 

ROBBERY  UNDER  ARMS.  |  NEVERMORE. 

SYDNEY-SIDE  SAXON. 


BY  SIR   HENRY  CUNNINGHAM,  K.C.I.E. 

Interesting  as  specimens  of  romance,  the  style  of  writing  is  so  excellent  —  scholarly 
and  at  the  same  time  easy  and  natural  —  that  the  volumes  are  worth  reading  on  that 
account  alone.  But  there  is  also  masterly  description  of  persons,  places,  and  things; 
skilful  analysis  of  character;  a  constant  play  of  wit  and  humour;  and  a  happy  gift  oi 
i  portraiture.  —  St.  James's  Gazette. 

THE  CCERULEANS:   A  VACATION  IDYLL. 


BY  GEORGE  GISSING. 

We  earnestly  commend  the  book  for  its  high  literary  merit,  its  deep  bright  interest, 
and  for  the  important  and  healthful  lessons  that  it  teaches.  —  Boston  Home  Journal. 

DENZIL  QUARRIER.  [THE  ODD  WOMEN. 

BY  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL. 

The  descriptions  are  wonderfully  realistic  .  .  .  and  the  breath  of  the  ocean  is  over 
and  through  every  page.  The  plot  is  very  novel  indeed,  and  is  developed  with  skill  and 
tact.  Altogether  one  of  the  cleverest  and  most  entertaining  of  Mr.  Russell's  many 
works.  —  Boston  Times. 

A  STRANGE  ELOPEMENT. 


BY  THE  HON.  EMILY   LAWLESS. 

It  is  a  charming  story,  full  of  natural  life,  fresh  in  style  and  thought,  pure  in  tone,  and 
refined  in  feeling.  —  Nineteenth  Century. 

A  strong  and  original  story.  It  is  marked  by  originality,  freshness,  insight,  a  rare 
graphic  power,  and  as  rare  a  psychological  perception.  It  is  in  fact  a  better  story  than 
"  Hurrish,"  and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal.  — Ne-w  York  Tribune. 

CRANIA  :  THE  STORY  OF  AN  ISLAND. 
4 


BY  A  NEW  AUTHOR. 

We  should  not  be  surprised  if  this  should  prove  to  be  the  most  popular  book  of  the 
present  season;  it  cannot  fail  to  be  one  of  the  most  remarkable.  —  Literary  World. 

TIM  :   A  STORY"  OF  SCHOOL  LIFE. 


BY  LANOE  FALCONER. 

(Author  of  "Mademoiselle  Ixe.") 

It  is  written  with  cleverness  and  brightness,  and  there  is  so  much  human  nature  In  It 
that  the  attention  of  the  reader  is  held  to  the  end.  .  .  .  The  book  shows  far  greater 
powers  than  were  evident  in  "  Mademoiselle  Ixe,"  and  if  the  writer  who  is  hidden  behind 
the  nom  de  guerre  Lanoe  Falconer  goes  on,  she  is  likely  to  make  for  herself  no  incon- 
siderable name  in  fiction.  —  Boston  Courier. 

CECILIA  DE  NOEL. 


BY  THE   REV.  PROF.  ALFRED  J.  CHURCH. 

Rev.  Alfred  J.  Church,  M.A.,  has  long  been  doing  valiant  service  in  literature  in 
presenting  his  stories  of  the  early  centuries,  so  clear  is  his  style  and  so  remarkable  his 
gift  of  enfolding  historical  events  and  personages  with  the  fabric  of  a  romance,  enter- 
taining and  oftentimes  fascinating.  .  .  .  One  has  the  feeling  that  he  is  reading  an  accu- 
rate description  of  real  scenes,  that  the  characters  are  living  —  so  masterly  is  Professor 
Church's  ability  to  reclothe  history  and  make  it  as  interesting  as  a  romance.  —  Bostor 
Times. 


STORIES   FROM   THE 

GREEK     COMEDIANS. 

ARISTOPHANES.  PHILEMON. 

DIPHILUS.  MENANDER.  APOLLODORUS. 

With  Sixteen  Illustrations  after  the  Antique. 

THE    STORY   OF    THE   ILIAD.  I  THE  STORY  OF  THE  ODYSSEY. 
With  Coloured  Illustrations.  |      With  Coloured  Illustrations. 

THE  BURNING  OF  ROME. 

5 


BY    MRS.    F.  A.   STEEL. 

The  story  is  a  delightful  one,  with  a  good  plot,  an  abundance  of  action  and  incident, 
well  and  naturally  drawn  characters,  excellent  in  sentiment,  and  with  a  good  ending. 
Its  interest  begins  with  the  opening  paragraph,  and  is  well  sustained  to  the  end. 
Mrs.  Steel  touches  all  her  stories  with  the  hand  of  a  master,  and  she  is  yet  to  write  one 
that  is  any  way  dull  or  uninteresting.  —  The  Christian  at  Work. 

MISS  STUART'S  LEGACY. 


BY    PAUL  GUSHING. 

...  A  first-class  detective  story.  Not  a  detective  story  of  the  ordinary  blood-and- 
thunder  kind,  but  a  really  good  story,  that  is  told  in  a  vigorous  and  attractive  way.  .  .  . 
It  is  full  of  incident  and  especially  good  dialogue.  The  people  in  it  really  talk.  The 
story  is  well  worth  reading.  —  Commercial  Gazette. 

THE  GREAT  CHIN  EPISODE. 


BY    MARY   A.    DICKENS. 

Felicitous  in  style  and  simple  enough  in  plot,  it  is  powerfully  vivid  and  dramatic,  and 
well  sustains  the  interest  throughout.  .  .  .  There  is  a  vein  of  grave  pleasantry  in  the 
earlier  portion  of  the  work,  which  has  to  be  abandoned  as  the  tragic  portion  of  it 
develops;  but  it  is  sufficient  to  show  that  the  writer  possesses  the  charm  of  pleasant 
recital  when  she  wishes  to  exert  it,  as  becomes  her  father's  daughter. —  The  Catholic 
World. 

A  MERE  CYPHER. 


BY    MARY  WEST. 

The  novel  is  admirably  written.  It  has  not  only  distinction  of  style,  but  intellectual 
quality  of  an  exceptionable  order;  and  while  the  treatment  is  never  didactic,  questions 
of  ethical  import  come  naturally  into  evidence,  and  are  dealt  with  in  a  decisive  way. 
...  A  remarkably  well-executed  piece  of  fiction.  —  Utica  News. 

A  BORN  PLAYER. 


BY  THE    MARCHESA    THEODOLI. 

A  thoroughly  pleasing  and  unpretentious  story  of  modern  Rome.  The  pictures  of 
home  life  in  the  princely  Astalli  family  are  most  curious  and  interesting;  while  the 
reader's  sympathy  with  the  charming  and  delicate  romance  of  the  book,  ending  happily 
at  last,  in  the  face  of  apparently  insurmountable  obstacles,  will  be  readily  enlisted  from 
its  inception.  —  The  Art  A matevr. 

UNDER  PRESSURE. 
6 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


FEB251976 


Form  L9-Series  444 


A    000033668    5 


